


cast yourself (you are the spell)

by dandelionlighters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts AU, Hosie, Nonconsensual Removal of Clothes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 16:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 53
Words: 249,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionlighters/pseuds/dandelionlighters
Summary: Hope Mikaelson is a pureblood Slytherin trying to escape the pressures of her family. Josie Saltzman is a muggleborn transfer student from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic when she gets sorted into Slytherin one fateful night. That same night, the Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney reveals a prophecy regarding two students that could mean destruction for Hogwarts and the entire wizarding world.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 3713
Kudos: 5040





	1. Chapter 1

The great hall is restless with activity. It’s the middle of October, and there are floating candles and pumpkins scattered throughout the air. Students are laughing and talking loudly, and sixth-year Hope Mikaelson can’t hear herself think.

She sighs, knitting her eyebrows in irritation and drumming her fingers against the hard wood of the table. When her family ring catches in a dent, she clenches her fist with another sigh. This one even heavier than before. 

She understands her father’s pride over the family name, but having to constantly wear the Mikealson ring annoys her. Sometimes it felt suffocating, and right now, squeezed between countless bodies, it’s enough for her irritation to spike once again. 

Hope raises her hand to her collar and loosens her Slytherin tie, looking around. She’s confused as to why food hasn’t magically appeared in front of them yet. 

It’s about thirty minutes past dinner time, and the students still have no idea why they’re waiting. They were told to come to the great hall early for dinner—Hope can faintly remember something about an important announcement—but nothing has happened yet. 

The pureblood’s eyes wander to the front, where the headmaster and professors are sitting regally. She notices that some of them look quite anxious. 

She wonders why, but after a few seconds of thinking, she decides that she doesn’t care. 

Before long, the students fall into a rush of silence as Headmaster Dumbledore stands up. 

“Quiet, quiet,” Dumbledore says, as if he’s Merlin himself or something, and Hope almost rolls her eyes. She glances away for a second and accidentally meets the stare of that curly-haired boy from Hufflepuff shooting her heart eyes. What was his name?   
  


  
Lesley?   
  


Landon? Oh, right. Landon. That’s the name of the boy staring at her without trying to hide it at all. 

_He should really stop doing that_, Hope thinks absently before turning back to Dumbledore. 

“Good evening, everyone,” Dumbledore greets, pausing dramatically. “Tonight, we welcome two students from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic that wish to finish out their studies here at Hogwarts.”

A murmur of excitement spreads across the dining hall, but Hope doesn’t share it. Instead, her shoulders sag in disappointment. She just wants to eat. 

“We never get transfers!” a fifth year whispers excitedly across from her, and Hope grumbles underneath her breath. She’s starving, and done with waiting. 

“Please embrace them pleasantly as you did your fellow classmates,” Dumbledore finishes, and Hope didn’t realize he was still talking. 

He moves to the side and gestures to his right, and Hope catches a glimpse of two girls she hadn’t noticed before. One is slightly taller than the other and clearly blonde, with an upturned nose and small features. Her robes are plain but immaculate. When Hope turns to look at the other one, she does a double-take. 

The girl is beautiful, that’s obvious. Her hair is slightly wavy, a gorgeous brown color that Hope can’t tear her gaze away from. She blinks and wills herself to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but she finds that she can’t. 

The girl’s eyes have a fire in them that directly contrast Hope’s own blue ones, and something just underneath Hope’s skin sparks. It jolts her back to reality. 

Hope glances away, her heart beating with a quickness she doesn’t yet realize. She stares down at the table, but all she can see is pouty lips and innocent eyes. She risks a glance back and the other girl’s eyes catch her own for barely a split second, but it’s enough to scare Hope to never look again. 

Minutes pass before Hope regains herself, the magic in her veins thrumming with attention. 

“Elizabeth Saltzman!” Professor McGonagall calls, and then Hope realizes they’re actually being sorted by that stupid fucking hat. Her eyebrows furrow with another discovery. 

_Saltzman...as in the famous vampire hunter Alaric Saltzman?_ Hope thinks. _As in one of the greatest enemies of her father? As in..._

“Saltzman. Great. Another fucking muggleborn,” Penelope Park curses next to her, a snobby frown down-turning her lips as the blonde walks up to the hat. “Her friend’s hot, though. Here’s to hoping she’s at least a half-blood.” 

Hope frowns then, too, and turns away from Penelope. Blood purity differences are still alive and well in Hogwarts, and although Hope’s family instills these values in her daily, she’s never really caught on. She’ll put on a show, but she doesn’t really care how much magic someone has in their bloodline. Even though she knows she should. 

Her father, however, really cares about it. In their world, he’s known as the Great Evil, having a history of committing many crimes and getting away with all of them. 

The great hall grows quiet again as the sorting hat is placed on top of Elizabeth’s head. It takes a minute or so before it finds its answer. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Elizabeth looks almost pleased as she takes off the hat and stands up. Everyone claps pleasantly like they’re supposed to, and she quickly joins the Gryffindor table. Hope almost laughs when she sees how disappointed Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are. On the contrary, her own house is indifferent. The second they heard Elizabeth’s last name, they stopped paying attention. No muggleborn would ever get sorted into Slytherin. 

“Josette Saltzman!” Hope only has a second to think how pretty the name is before Penelope starts to rant about blood purity again. 

“P, if you don’t shut the fuck up...” Hope trails off, and Penelope gets the message to stop talking clearly enough. 

The hall is still quiet as Josette walks up to the stool, her footsteps resounding loudly in the silence. She sits down, and McGonagall places the hat on her head. 

Nothing is immediately said, and just when Hope thinks the hat has made a decision another minute goes by. Josette is whispering furiously, but strangely no one can hear a single thing. She appears to be..._arguing with the hat?_ It’s almost seven minutes later when the hat finally decides.

“SLYTHERIN!” 

A hush tumbles over the already silent body of students, and Hope’s heart gets stuck in her throat. It pounds against her vocal cords, and no sound allows itself to come out. 

She watches as Josette stands up, but the entire Slytherin table is frozen. 

It’s unheard of—

_A muggleborn in Slytherin? What the fuck was the hat thinking?_

Hope’s eyes still remain unblinking until she realizes that everyone is looking at her for direction. She's only a sixth year, but her last name is enough for everyone to practically worship her or be afraid of her at this school. 

_I don't know what to do_, Hope wants to scream, wants to tell them that she's just hungry and starving for some mashed potatoes. Penelope elbows her pointedly, and Hope realizes that she still hasn't said anything yet. 

Josette is standing awkwardly in front of McGonagall, not knowing what to do also. For her part, McGonagall doesn't know what to do either. The situation is almost laughable, really. 

Hope feels her bones like lead, her joints like jelly and it's hard to move. Her insides are cement, and when she looks up she only sees Josette. 

She lifts her elbows off the table, the magic inside commanding her every move before she can think about it. Her hands collide together and Hope knows that this—this moment—will change her life completely. She starts to clap, and the entire Slytherin table follows suit after a moment of hesitance. Josette smiles, and Hope wonders what she was even worried about in the first place.

Just before the applause ends, a glass shatters meters away, dropped by the Divination teacher—Sybill Trelawney. Seconds go by, but she makes no move to pick it up or use a spell to clean it. In fact, she's frozen, staring blankly in front of her like nothing else exists. In a monotone expression, her voice begins to carry throughout the great hall. 

"When the sun rises, 

the end of peace will set,

and Merlin will stir in anger

with the first hour of the morning.

He will reign destruction on nature,

turning the seas to ice

and the forests to fire. 

Two will need to come together

one purest of blood, 

from the house of the snake,

and another with none to her name, 

but from much of the same. 

Only their union can truly free us from Merlin’s wrath.

And the Great Evil’s heir

shall become our savior."

At the words Great Evil, Hope sees everyone's heads turn in her direction once again. She watches as Josette's eyes follow everyone else's, and suddenly Hope feels very, very insecure. She keeps her head up, her shoulders and back ramrod straight, but inside she's freaking out. 

Sybill Trelawney and her family are known for their prophecies, and Hope vaguely wonders if this is one of those cases. Trelawney snaps out of it a second later, looking around in confusion, and Hope's heart drops to her stomach in dread. Although Trelawney is a bat-crazy lunatic and her predictions have no real value, Hope feels like something is wrong deep down. 

She doesn't feel so hungry anymore. 


	2. Chapter 2

Inside the headmaster’s office was utter chaos. Professor Slughorn and Professor Binns were arguing over trivial matters that really had nothing to do with the matter at hand. Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were quarreling over the meaning of the prophecy, while the other professors demanded to know whether it was even real at all. 

The only two that did not speak were the ever-confused Sybill Trelawney and Albus Dumbledore, who was standing over a Pensieve in search for the memory which had occurred barely thirty minutes ago. 

A white light wisps out of his wand into the Pensieve, and a second later the worrying incident plays out before him. The room grows quiet as everyone strains to observe Dumbledore’s memory. 

Trelawney watches herself as she forewarns a prophecy of which she cannot recall. 

“When the sun rises, 

the end of peace will set,

and Merlin will stir in anger

with the first hour of the morning.

He will reign destruction on nature,

turning the seas to ice

and the forests to fire. 

Two will need to come together

one purest of blood, 

from the house of the snake

and another with none to her name, 

but from much of the same. 

Only their union can truly free us from Merlin’s wrath.

And the great evil’s heir 

shall become the wizarding world’s savior.”

As the memory comes to an end, the staff reverts back to the disorder they had found comfort in before. Professor Snape remains a quill in hand, transcribing the prophecy just as it concluded. 

“Settle down, everyone,” Dumbledore bellows patiently, feeling as if he’s addressing a group of first years. In turn, the staff stare up at him, waiting restlessly for what he has to say next. 

As always, Dumbledore delays his speech for dramatics, and—as always—Professor McGonagall huffs in annoyance. 

“It appears...what we have is to be a true prophecy—“ Before he can even finish his sentence or add more, the room dissolves into a fierce commotion once again. 

“This is crazy!” Trelawney exclaims, and Professor McGonagall has the sudden and deep urge to strangle her. 

“I knew I should have never accepted this teaching position,” Professor Slughorn mumbles gracelessly under his breath, as if his presence had personally invoked Merlin’s fury. 

“What do we do?” Professor Flitwick was repeatedly asking, and for once, Dumbledore had no precise response. 

“We interpret it to the best of our ability, and then we do everything in our power to prevent the destruction it so describes,” he says, taking a step back as the teachers crowd over Professor Snape and his transcription of the prophecy. For just a second, in the comfort of his own mind, Albus Dumbledore allows himself to wonder what Gellert Grindewald would do. 

A tight knot forms in the space where his heart should be, and he blinks back to the situation at hand. 

“Alright, we must decipher this now. It won’t be long until the morning, and we have the best chance the quicker we can translate it,” Professor McGonagall tells her fellow staff members, reaching out for some ink and a quill. 

“I think it is rather obvious.” Professor Snape sighs. “Essentially, the balance of nature will be unstable unless two students can manage to salvage it.” 

“Two students? How can you infer that?” Professor Flitwick jumps in. 

“‘House of the snake’ is quite clearly referring to Slytherin—“ 

“—How do we know they haven’t graduated yet?” 

“We don’t,” Professor McGonagall cuts in. “For now, we will narrow down the list of current students starting in Slytherin.” 

“‘One purest of blood, from the house of the snake,’” she reads out loud.

The same name jumps to everyone’s mind. There’s no overlooking it. There’s only one family that has such an elite place in the wizarding world—that is so highly known for its purely magical bloodline. 

“Hope Mikaelson.” The two words are said simultaneously, a deafening agreement across the now silent room. Everyone turns to Snape, whose response was uttered the loudest. A silent question escapes between the prison bars of McGonagall’s aching teeth. 

“Yes,” he answers, unbidden. 

“Severus, if you’re sure—I mean—this would instantly condemn her—“ 

“No, Minerva. As much as it pains me to involve children, it seems as though it is a foolishness we can no longer ignore or take part in. We were all naive to begin with. ‘The Great Evil’s heir’? Klaus Mikaelson only has one daughter, after all,” he says, and Professor McGonagall nods sadly. 

“And the other student? Who do you propose that to be?” 

Professor Snape opens his mouth, but no sound comes out at all. Albus Dumbledore shuts his eyes, memories swirling in blackness just beneath the lids of them. 

_For the greater good_, he hears Gellert say. 

“Josette Saltzman,” Dumbledore speaks up. Severus is right, he thinks, they cannot afford ignorance. “‘Another with none to her name, but from much of the same.’ A muggleborn sorted in Slytherin for the first time in Hogwarts’ history? The prophecy couldn’t have chosen a better moment to present itself.” 

“We can contemplate all we’d like over what students are who, but what do you suggest we actually do with this information?” Professor Slughorn raises his voice. “I know of no such way to bring Miss Saltzman and Miss Mikaelson together. Blood purity differences will surely stand between them.” 

“Well, firstly, Minerva will inform the students tomorrow morning that the prophecy is indeed fake and they have nothing to worry about,” Dumbledore tells him, gesturing to Professor McGonagall. He's quickly interrupted. 

“But sir, with all due respect, this generation has been some of the finest and brightest students we’ve ever seen. How could we attempt to deceive them?” McGonagall cuts in, hesitance written across her face. 

“Many of them already admire and trust you, Minerva. Furthermore, I suspect they would find great comfort in the knowledge that the world isn’t ending.” 

She nods briefly, and Dumbledore continues. “Then we have to discuss the meaning of a ‘union,” as which is indicated by the prophecy.” 

“A friendship? A relationship? A marriage?” He wonders out loud, but inside he is hoping that Professor Trelawney will speak up and shed some light. She does.

“Most commonly in divination, a union signifies a wedding of some sort—the merging of two families into one.” 

“How would we even begin to start that process? No offense, Severus, but Hope Mikealson does have a reputation for tormenting muggleborns,” Professor Flitwick says, rather shyly, to which Severus waves off immediately. 

“I have reason to believe that Miss Mikaelson is not as prejudiced as she makes herself out to be,” Dumbledore says ominously, to which Flitwick quickly discounts. 

“Be that as it may, even if we were able to change her views individually, her family would never allow her to befriend—nevertheless marry—a muggleborn,” Flitwick continues without missing a beat. 

“I’m afraid, Filius, that we have no time to lose hope or discuss it. We might incur Merlin’s wrath by sunrise tomorrow, and we need to develop a plan now,” Dumbledore states rather simply, and the staff gets to it quickly. 

“I could rearrange my seating chart tomorrow? They’re bound to have my class together,” Professor Slughorn offers, and Dumbledore almost laughs. The implication is so juvenile, but Dumbledore can’t find a reason to dismiss it. He smiles pleasantly. 

“I could, as well,” chorus the rest of the professors, and they’re starting to have an actual plan. 

“That would be far too suspicious if we did it all at once,” Professor Snape realizes, beginning to pace the cramped room. 

“Minerva, Horace, and I will partner them up tomorrow, and the rest of you can do it the next week?” 

The teachers all nod, and something akin to excitement sparks in Professor Snape’s eye. 

“I think it’s time we started the dueling club up again.” He smiles. The room quiets in consensus. 

Over in the Slytherin common room, madness is descending on the students. The room is overcrowded, the first years too scared to go to sleep, the older years desperately trying to analyze the prophecy on their own. Couches are uncomfortably tight—five teenagers to a couch. 

Hope Mikealson is laying leisurely over one by herself. No one tries to sit next to her, but Penelope risks sitting on the right chair arm. She’s laughing in delight. 

“This is amazing,” she tells Hope, watching over the anxious students with a sick pleasure that Hope doesn’t reciprocate. She’s distracted, her eyes searching over the crowd, looking for someone that Penelope can’t understand. “They’re practically pissing themselves over some prophecy made by a batty nutcase.” 

“Yes,” Hope replies, her eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and slight frustration.

_Where is she? _

“Are you even listening to me, H?” 

“...Yes.” 

_Where is she?_

“Are you seriously thinking about that damn prophecy, too?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Oh my god, you are!” 

Hope sees a head of brown waves and immediately straightens up. 

“What? No, I’m not,” she clarifies once recognizing what Penelope had actually said, reaching for her tie and fixing it. She catches Josette making her way out of the crowd and to the exit of the common room. She stares a little too long, and Penelope notices. 

Penelope follows her line of sight to Josette, and immediately stands up. Hope follows after quickly in concern. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Penelope laughs, her lips curling into a sneer. Josette stops in her tracks. She reads the look on Penelope’s face quickly. 

“Out,” Josette tells her shortly, and Hope finds herself memorizing the tone of her voice. Josette makes a move to pass her, but Penelope doesn’t let her go. 

“Oh, she thinks she’s funny,” Penelope says, and the room gets oddly silent. Hope realizes everyone’s stopped talking to watch their interaction. She sighs internally. 

“It’s late, P, drop it,” she says, trying to get Penelope to let it go. She makes the mistake of making eye contact with Josette and almost winces. Brown meets blue and Hope feels like her soul is being devoured. Can everyone hear how fast her heart’s beating? Does Josette recognize her from the great hall? 

Penelope lightly shoves her, making a big scene out of nothing.

“What, Mikealson? Going soft?” It’s a direct challenge to her family, to her very being, and Hope knows she’s going to regret whatever she says next. 

“I’m not.” She feels like everyone is looking at her. She feels like her father is in the room with her. “I just don’t want you to waste a second thought on the likes of her.” 

Josette’s eyes flash with hurt, and Hope’s fingers twitch twice before stilling completely. The muggleborn makes a quick escape out of the door, and when Hope sits back down on the couch, her legs are shaking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it :)


	3. Chapter 3

Hope is waken up by a pillow to the face. A jinx makes its way half-out of her throat before she realizes it’s just Maya Machado. 

“Get up, we’re gonna be late to practice,” Maya tells her, wrapping a scarf around her neck on top of her quidditch uniform. It’s slightly cold outside, and when Hope looks outside the window, she finds that the sky is dark. 

They used to not have windows at all, until some spoiled kid had complained about how the common room was in the dungeon, so they got moved up to the east tower.

“How long have you been up?” Hope asks, throwing the cover off her too-hot skin. Her throat feels sore. 

“For an hour or so,” Maya says, very nonchalantly. 

“It’s six o’clock. You couldn’t have woken me up sooner?” Hope sits up straighter, glancing to the clock on her bedside table. 

“Well, I thought about it. But...you’re hot when you’re mad.” Maya punctuates the sentence with a wink and smiles at the mirror, seemingly happy with her herself. Hope is not happy at all. 

She raises her wand and Maya almost sprints out of the door, the tickling jinx deliberately hitting the wall above her head. 

“Hurry up,” Maya calls out, effectively leaving Hope by herself. She gets dressed in twenty minutes, almost uncaring that she will definitely be late. Although she’s the captain, she’s never been concerned with punctuality. 

Consequently, Hope is the last one to make it to the quidditch pitch, and when she approaches her teammates she finds that they’re all huddled together discussing the prophecy. 

“Do you think it’s real?” Maya whispers conspiratorially. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hope cuts in. They all turn to her quickly, adjusting their quidditch gear. “We have a match against Hufflepuff on Saturday we need to prepare for.” 

“‘It doesn’t matter’?” Maya asks. “That’s a little difficult for you to say, Great Evil’s heir.” 

“Whatever.” Hope shrugs off. “Let’s start.” 

They do a couple of warm up laps, just flying around the pitch, and then she has the chasers—Ryan Clarke, Ethan Machado, and Jo Victoire—practice the passing drill she made against the keeper, Rose Nicot. They do it perfectly five times over, so Hope allows the beaters—Penelope and Maya—to take part in the drill to make it more difficult. 

She watches above, the snitch twitching in her hand, making small comments and interjections wherever she can. At one point, Penelope gets frustrated and steals the quaffle from the chasers, using it as a bludger against Maya’s brother Ethan. The quaffle flies towards Ethan, just barely missing his head. It changes direction, soaring to the right of where Hope is hovering in the air. She swiftly raises her hand and picks it easily out of the sky. 

Hope looks down and finds that Maya and Penelope have started hitting each other with their bats, which quickly makes Hope interrupt them. She had hoped they would’ve been able to solve it on their own. She scolds them briefly, and they begin to argue loudly. Hope only entertains them for a minute. 

“She hit me first!” 

“Huh, I didn’t know first years were allowed on the team,” Hope remarks sarcastically, taking their bats away from them. They fold their arms angrily in unison just as Ethan starts to glide down, jumping of off his broom and hitting the ground softly.

“What the hell was that, Park?” He crosses the short distance fastly, his fists clenched at his sides. The rest of the team that’s still in the air floats down as well, Rose being the last to make it. 

“What happened?” Rose asks, terribly oblivious. 

“‘What happened?’” Penelope mimics, like a child. Hope frowns. “You’re a fucking idiot—“

“Spare me the superiority complex, P,” Rose cuts her off. Hope is shocked speechless. Rose was usually kind of shy and backed down from fights rather than exacerbated them. 

“Superiority complex? I—“

“Oh please, you talk a big game, but the truth is you suck, and you’re only on the team because you’re friends with Hope.” 

The field quiets. Hope puts a hand on her forehead. She can already feel a headache coming. 

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m ending practice for the mornin—“ she starts, but Penelope interrupts her. 

“That’s not true.” Hope sighs. She knows Penelope is about to embarrass herself immensely. 

“I bet I could score on you with my eyes closed,” Penelope continues, stepping forward, a smirk against her lips. It reflects against Rose’s own. 

“Fine,” Hope snarls, annoyed at being interrupted. She tosses Penelope the quaffle. “Prove it.” 

Not five minutes later, the Slytherin team divides themselves into two groups. Ethan, Maya, Rose, and Jo on one side of the field hanging around the goal posts, and Hope, Penelope, and Ryan on the other. 

Rose and her team are whispering furiously and glancing to the other field, which makes Hope overwhelmingly nervous. She sudden regrets allowing this to happen. 

“You’re not even a chaser, Pen,” Hope tells her while Ryan continuously hypes Penelope up. 

“How hard can it be anyways?” Penelope asks, weighing the ball between her hands. Her hands are tiny compared to the quaffle. 

A drop of water hits Hope’s head and she realizes it’s raining. Within seconds, it’s pouring. The water seeps through her clothing easily, and she wonders how the weather had changed so quickly. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” she says, walking over to the other group and wishing Rose luck. Hope knows she won’t need it.

The entire incident is ridiculous to begin with, but everyone knows Penelope won’t back down with her competitive nature. Sighing for what feels like the hundredth time today, Hope mounts her broom and flies between the two groups. 

“Okay.” She feels silly. She knows for a fact that none of the other houses do this kind of stuff at their practices. “Penelope, you only have one chance to get the quaffle in. You can aim at any of the three hoops. Rose, you can only make one move to block it...whenever you’re ready.” 

Both Penelope and Rose nod, and Hope backs off. She flies to where the rest of the team is watching. 

“Ten galleons Penelope gets it,” Ryan puts in immediately. Hope rolls her eyes.

“I have twenty for Rose,” she humors him. 

“Rich people,” Maya scoffs underneath her breath, and Hope allows herself a laugh. She watches as Penelope approaches the goal posts. 

Everyone holds their breath momentarily, and Jo goes as far as to close her eyes. Ethan punches her in the shoulder. 

Rose readies herself, sitting stiffly on her broom but ready to bolt in one direction or another. Penelope picks up speed, so that she’s only a few feet away from Rose. She fakes left and turns right in a flash, but she catapults the quaffle to the left post anyway. 

A second before everyone thinks it’s going to go in, Rose comes from nowhere and blocks it with her foot. The second it happens Rose screams in excitement. 

Hope claps, and turns to the right, catching Ethan’s eyes. They’re alight in happiness, and he tears them away from Hope to look at Rose.

There’s something about the way he looks at her that is very, very curious, but Hope doesn’t pay it any mind because Penelope is already stomping off the field. 

Hope doesn’t bother to chase her, and huddles up with the rest of the team to praise Rose and schedule the next practice for tomorrow. 

Before long, she makes her way into the locker room, taking a quick shower and then changing into her school uniform. Breakfast has already started by the time she gets into the great hall. 

It’s silent when she walks passed the table and finds a seat next to Penelope and Ryan, and she realizes Professor McGonagall is talking.

“—We have taken the proper precautions and have contacted the ministry, and I am relieved to inform you that the prophecy announced last night was indeed a fallacy. There is no need to worry, and with that being said, I wish everyone a good day with the rest of their classes!” 

Hope’s shoulders droop in consolation with the news, but something doesn’t quite feel right. When she can’t put her finger on it exactly, she goes back to drinking her pumpkin juice. 

The rest of the hall is relieved as well, and although the Slytherins don’t show it, Hope can tell by the set of their spines that they are. 

She searches all of their faces for a particular reaction, but doesn’t find Josette anywhere. It’s only when she glances at the Gryffindor table that she sees her. 

Josette’s hanging out with Elizabeth and another guy she recognizes as Rafael, a sixth year Gryffindor.

It makes Hope upset for a reason she can’t justify rationally. Slytherins aren’t supposed to sit with other houses even though all the other houses usually do. If anyone asks her, she might just say that. 

She forces herself to pull her eyes away, looking down at her pumpkin juice again. She sees flashes of Josette in the swirls of orange. She shakes her head, wondering what the hell is wrong with her. 

It’s Tuesday, so Slytherins have double-potions with Ravenclaw first thing. At least that’ll take her mind off of things for a while. 

She begins the long trek to the dungeons with Penelope and Rose. They’re a minute late to class, but Professor Slughorn never cares. He practically worships the ground she walks on. 

When Hope walks in, she quickly notices that no one is sitting down. Slughorn has lined everyone up against the wall. Her stomach fills with dread when she realizes that he’s changing the seating chart. 

“Alright, so Anna Lowly with Paige Hengl. Yes, yes, hurry along. Violet Pielt and William Jacques over there, please.” 

“He can’t partner me if I’m not here,” Penelope says the second she realizes he’s changing their seats, too. She starts to walk back out the door, but Rose pulls her back. 

“Get over yourself,” she whispers, and together the three of them shuffle to the back wall. 

“Penelope Park and Rose Nicot,” Slughorn says a moment later, and Rose begins to drag Penelope over to their seats at the front. They look friendly enough, and Hope wonders what happened between quidditch practice and now to make them that way. 

She also wonders how they were lucky enough to become partners. She frowns, almost seething on the inside. Penelope notices and sends her a condescending wink, which Hope replies to with her middle finger. 

Hope watches as Slughorn recites everyone else’s names but hers. When she looks around, she’s the only one left. 

“—And finally, Hope Mikaelson and Josette Saltzman.” 

_ Saltzman? She’s not even in this class.  _

“I’m sorry I’m late,” comes a voice from the door. Josette walks in, the strap of her book bag almost falling off her shoulder. She hands Slughorn a pass, and from where Hope is standing she can just barely make out a lemon drop in Josette’s other hand. “I thought the headmaster was joking when he said this class was in the dungeons.” 


	4. Chapter 4

“That’s quite alright, Miss Saltzman,” Slughorn tells her, pointing to where Hope’s sitting. She looks down at the table quickly, her heart dropping to her feet. 

“Please find your seat over there next to Miss Mikaelson,” he says, handing Josette a used textbook with a smile. At her name, Hope looks up, immediately meeting the eyes of the muggleborn. 

She feels paralyzed in her seat, her hands unmoving in her lap. Josette looks...almost disappointed. Hope is suddenly very irritated with herself. Josette doesn’t even bother introducing herself as she pulls out the chair from underneath the table. It scrapes loudly in the silent room. Hope finds herself silent, too. 

“Alright, everyone. As a favor to Madam Pomfrey, we will be brewing Sleeping Draughts to restore her supply. I realize that you learned this third year, so I will leave much of it to you. The ingredients are in the pantry and—if you so need them—the instructions are in your textbooks. You are required to concoct at least one draught by the end of the lesson, please use your time wisely.” 

As Slughorn concludes his little speech, he takes a step back, observing the room as everyone quickly gets to work. He feels worried when he sees that Hope and Josette have not moved an inch from their positions. 

“I’ll get the ingredients,” Hope says roughly, suddenly, standing up so quickly that the table shakes slightly. She doesn’t wait for Josette to respond, and if she does, Hope hears nothing. 

Once in the pantry, she allows herself a second of time to take a deep breath. Everything is fine.

_Everything is fine. _

She comes back to find a dark cauldron sitting on the table. 

“Oh,” Hope lets out, completely on accident. Josette looks up, hesitating for a second before furrowing her eyebrows. 

“Is something wrong?” she asks, her voice like velvet, but a little hesitant, a little hostile. 

“For one, there’s a trash can on our desk,” Hope blurts before she can stop herself. Josette looks up sharply, her eyes catching on the cauldron Hope’s referring to. 

“The equipment list suggested a pewter cauldron would suffice,” Josette states, clearly offended as she opens a jar of lavender sprigs. 

“Right,” Hope nods. The solid gold cauldron in her magically expandable book bag feels heavy in its disuse. She knows that they could get the potion done much more quickly with it, but remains quiet. She’s afraid of offending Josette once more, even though she’s never had a problem with offending someone before. 

The pair do not talk for the rest of their allotted two hours, working harmoniously on the potion without words. 

When Hope finishes crushing herbs into paste, Josette will already be ready to drop Flobberworm Mucus into the cauldron. When Josette finishes chopping the Sopophorous bean needed for the draught, Hope will already have started heating it up. 

They work side by side effortlessly, as if they have worked together for centuries. Hope has the sudden terrible thought that Josette is the best partner she’s every worked with for potions. She does the work equally and never falters or stops to read the directions a second time. Hope quickly shakes the thought away, remembering that Josette is a muggleborn and that this is just luck. 

They’re the first ones to finish, Josette waving her wand over the potion a full thirty minutes before the class ends. It turns a deep purple, like it’s supposed to, and Slughorn rushes over to praise them and cap the filled bottle. 

Hope rolls her eyes the second he leaves, huffing slightly when she realizes that Josette and her are alone for half an hour. They sit awkwardly for about ten minutes until Hope gets up and leaves. She gets called back immediately, only having made it two steps out of the door. 

“With all due respect, sir, we’re done with our potion,” she tells Slughorn when he scolds her for trying to vacate the room. He frowns, looking between Josette and Hope worriedly for some reason she can’t put her finger on. 

“Hmmm,” he murmurs. “Since you have extra time on your hands, I hope the two of you will have no problem running this letter over to Professor Flitwick for me.” 

Hope sighs deeply, her eyes falling closed shortly. She instantly regrets trying to leave early. She can see Penelope laughing in the back of the room. 

“Of course not, sir,” she says, and in the corner of her eye she sees Josette gathering her stuff and shrinking her cauldron into her bag. 

If it was awkward in the potions class, it’s even more awkward in the halls. Hope is pretty sure that Josette is fuming on the inside for what Hope got them into. 

“You know, I was perfectly fine sitting around and doing nothing,” Josette breaks the silence as they reach ground-level and are out of the dungeons. Hope feels anger further plummet her attitude. 

“Oh, forgive me for not having the personality of a couch potato,” she bites out against clenched teeth. 

“No,” Josette laughs, a vicious sound coming out of soft lips. “Instead, you’re a privileged pureblood who believes she’s entitled to everything she wants.” 

Hope’s heart stops completely. She freezes in her place, and Josette walks four strides before she notices and pauses, too. 

“And who are you to think that you’re _entitled_ to an opinion about me?” She steps forward, wondering why she even bothered thinking about Josette so much in the first place. 

“I’ve only been here a day and a half, but I’ve heard all about you...” she trails off. “_Hope Mikaelson_.”

Josette says Hope’s name like it’s a joke, and it stings just between the layers of her skin. She finds she can’t produce a sound. 

“You think people hate me for my blood?” Josette asks, she, too, taking a step forward. “They hate you even more for yours.” 

Hope has only a second to think that this is a very different girl than the one she saw last night. 

Forgetting Slughorn’s envelope in her hand, she clenches her fists at her sides, trying to come up with something to say that won’t make her look like an idiot or an asshole. 

_You’re better than her_, she tries to tell herself. _Rise above it_. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, instead of everything she wants to, punctuating it with one of the most venomous glares she’s ever given. 

Josette blinks twice, perhaps as if she’s forgotten herself. 

“Maybe,” she says curiously, and Hope desperately wants to ask her what she’s thinking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—Professor Flitwick is waiting.” 

She grabs the envelope from Hope’s now-unclenched hand before Hope can even blink, making a move to go passed her. Hope doesn’t budge, remaining in her position as Josette’s eyes narrow. Their shoulders brush as the muggleborn finally makes it passed her, the burn from the momentary touch persisting moments after she has walked away. 

Hope doesn’t even try to tell her that she’s going in the wrong direction. She wonders if Josette even knows who Professor Flitwick is. 


	5. Chapter 5

Her next class is Transfiguration, which she has with Penelope, Rose, and Ethan. They have this class with Ravenclaw as well. 

“You were right,” Hope tells Penelope along the way. Penelope arches one brow in confusion. 

“About the Saltzman girl,” Hope clarifies, a lump in her throat. “She’s nothing but trouble.” 

“When am I ever wrong?” Penelope laughs in delight, quickly being elbowed by Ethan, who’s just caught up with them. 

“Like, all the time,” he interjects, a smirk against his lips. 

“Oh, please,” Penelope scoffs. “Name one time.” 

“This morning,” Rose cuts in quickly, and they all laugh despite the frown on Penelope’s face. 

“Whatever,” she grumbles, walking faster as she enters the classroom. She stops shortly. 

“Oh, come on!” she groans immediately. “We’re changing seats in here, too?” 

Hope strains over her head and sees that they are—in fact—switching seats.

_That’s...peculiar. _

“What?” Ethan groans as well. “McGonagall never assigns seating charts.” 

“Maybe the old hag has finally lost her mind,” Penelope comments as they all find a spot along the wall similarly to the way they did during potions. 

Hope straightens up somewhat as her eyes catch Josette entering the classroom with Anna Lowly, a Ravenclaw. They appear to be friendly enough, and Hope breathes out a heavy sigh before she can stop herself. 

The bell rings to signal the start of class, and with brief introductions McGonagall starts pairing them off. 

Once again, Hope finds a partner in Josette Saltzman. She grits her teeth as she makes her way to their assigned desk, which just so happens to be right in the front of McGonagall’s own. 

Penelope and a Ravenclaw Hope hasn’t bothered to learn the name of are sitting right across them, with Ethan and Anna just behind them. 

Rose is at the back of the classroom by herself, and Hope doesn’t even have it within her to laugh about it. 

She _does_ actually laugh when she sees that Ethan and Penelope are already arguing. 

“Haha, I got a smart person!” Ethan attempts to gloat, gesturing to Anna’s blue and copper robe. 

“Me, too, dumbass,” Penelope name calls, pointing to her seat partner who is wearing the same Ravenclaw robe. The smile on Ethan’s face slips off easily enough. 

Hope glances at Josette next to her, realizing that she isn’t wearing her Slytherin robe. 

_Maybe she hasn’t had the chance to purchase one yet? _

She thinks she might be staring too long, so she glances back at Ethan and Penelope. She wonders if they’d still be as happy with their Ravenclaw partners if they were anything less than purebloods. 

“Okay, class. This morning we will be transfiguring inanimate objects to live ones. For the first half of class, we will be starting small, with beetles and bugs. The second half of class we will focus our magic on bigger animals. We have been practicing this spell for the last week or so, so I expect that you will have little to no trouble. Please remember your wand movements and pronunciations. I have set aside various objects in front of you—you may now begin.” 

The class dissolves into chatter once again, and Hope looks at the task before her. There’s a couple of cups and knobs on the desk, and she reaches for a chess piece. 

In the corner of her eye, she sees Josette picking up a pair of dice. 

Looking back at her brown rook, she waves her wand almost lazily, whispering the spell slightly disinterested. She wishes they could do something cool for once. 

The chess piece turns into a cockroach immediately, running around the desk at a speed that has Hope disgusted. 

Hope glances at Josette to see that she’s transfigured the dice into two cute ladybugs that are oddly large. 

Josette is smiling, admiring her ladybugs with a childlike enjoyment. Something light stirs in Hope’s chest, which instantly deflates when she catches Josette’s displeased face. 

“A cockroach?” she says, a lone eyebrow raising up before looking Hope up and down. “That’s surprisingly indicative of your character.” 

Trying to ignore the fact that Josette basically just called her a cockroach, she turns back to look at the bug in question. Her mouth goes slack immediately. 

“Oh my god!” Josette whisper-yells, startling the students in their circumference and causing McGonagall to look up. “Your cockroach just ate my ladybugs!” 

“Hmm, I would have thought it to have better taste than that,” Hope mumbles sardonically, further aggravating Josette. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she gasps, crossing her arms quickly. Hope considers mocking her more, but she sees that McGonagall is fast approaching them. 

“It appears that you two have already mastered this part of the assignment. You may move onto larger life forms,” the Professor says shortly, before returning to her desk. When Hope looks around, she finds that her classmates are still having trouble transfiguring mere ants. 

She takes out her wand once again, choosing to ignore Josette for a second time. She feels like she’s slowly losing her mind, all too aware of how close the muggleborn is next to her, all too aware of how their knees could touch if Hope were to move her chair a little bit to the left. 

She takes a large cup this time, setting it in front of her before saying the spell and envisioning another animal. 

A rat appears in front of her, its tail almost longer than half the length of the table. When she looks over, she finds Josette petting a small hamster. 

_How is she doing this so quickly? She’s...almost better than me. _

“You’re so cute,” Josette murmurs, holding the hamster up and continuing to play with it. Hope’s fingertips tingle with the want to reach out, but she keeps them shaking underneath the desk. She hates this feeling. 

“That is the ugliest fucking animal I have ever seen,” Hope comments, unable to resist. 

“And what, your speciality is...pests and rodents?” Josette responds without even looking up, still playing with the hamster. Hope crosses her arms and huffs, glaring at the rat slivering across the desk. 

They stay that way for what feels like minutes on end, and then _it_ happens. 

Josette yelps, immediately attracting the attention of the entire class. She runs her hands around her body, swiping at things Hope can’t see, until she does. 

The buttons of Josette’s white long sleeve have been transfigured into crickets, and they’re hopping all over her incessantly. Laughter and wolf whistles resound loudly throughout the classroom, and the loudest of it is coming from one Penelope Park. 

Hope looks at the Slytherin for barely a second before she realizes this is all definitely Penelope’s doing. She can tell by the wand poking underneath the desk, and the menacing smirk on her face. Hope turns her attention back to the frantic Josette who has just calmed down, except that her shirt is split down the middle, leaving her stomach and torso completely exposed. And of course, she doesn’t have a robe to cover up with. 

Hope’s eyes are promptly drawn to Josette’s soft pink bra and the flat tone of her stomach, her lips parting and pupils dilating instantly. She forces herself to look away, shrugging off her robe and silently handing it to Josette. 

The muggleborn takes it quickly, grabbing her book bag in a rush and fleeing the classroom. Hope’s heart jams into her throat, the rapid beat of it paralyzing her vocal cords. 

“Miss Park, that was wholly inappropriate and tactless. Forty points from Slytherin!” McGonagall yells strictly, and Hope can’t remember a time the professor has ever been so angry. 

“You can’t prove I did it!” Penelope tells her, standing up in faked disbelief. Hope rolls her eyes. 

“She did it,” Anna and Penelope’s partner chorus together, not even caring that they’re snitching on one of the most menacing Slytherins at this school. Penelope rounds on them, but McGonagall doesn’t let her get another word in. 

“You’ll be serving detention with me for the next week, and I’ll be notifying your parents of this terrible behavior.” McGonagall’s lips are a thin line as she talks. “Now, I ask you to please leave my classroom immediately.” 

Penelope looks around at everyone, but they mostly have their heads down, and Hope herself glances away when she finds Penelope staring at her. 

Finally, the Slytherin girl mutters something underneath her breath before leaving. The class is dismissed when the bell rings ten minutes later, and Hope transforms Josette’s hamster into the cup it was before. 

Her next class is Charms, which she thankfully doesn’t share with any of her friends. She doesn’t know if she even wants to look at any of them right now. After that, she finds peace in Arithmancy, where Josette’s name is called during roll call, yet Hope doesn’t see her anywhere. 

During lunch, Penelope won’t stop cursing Professor McGonagall and Josette Saltzman. Hope still doesn’t see the girl in question, and no matter how much she tells herself she doesn’t care, it doesn’t stop her eyes from wandering in search of the muggleborn. 

Hope’s last class of the day is right after lunch, and just so happens to be with Gryffindor. It’s Defense Against the Dark Arts, which is also one of her favorite classes. She shares the class with pretty much all of her friends, and that’s mostly why she likes it so much. 

Incidentally, it seems that Professor Snape has also taken the insanity potion that's affected most of the teachers at Hogwarts. 

_Of course we’re fucking switching seats again. _

The Slytherins and Gryffindors stand against the wall, their rivalry dividing them up into two groups quickly. 

Hope’s breath catches fire when she lays eyes on Josette, who is on the side of the Gryffindors with her sister Elizabeth. She is also wearing Hope’s robe. 

“The audacity of her,” Penelope sneers next to Hope. “Prancing around in your robe like she owns it.” 

“I don’t know, P,” Maya cuts in, a small smirk against dangerous lips. “I think she might look better in it than Hope does.” 

Of course, Hope agrees but that doesn’t mean she’s going to say it. 

Professor Snape quiets the class soon enough, taking out a small list on parchment paper. He begins naming everyone's partners. 

“Elizabeth Saltzman and Sebastian Pyre.” 

“Maya Machado and Emma Wilford.” 

“Ethan Machado and Rose Nicot.” 

“Penelope Park and Milton Greasley.” 

“This is bullshit!” Penelope snarls, and Hope grips her back with a single arm. She could count on two hands how many scenes Penelope has started this year. “How dare you partner me with a blood traitor!” 

“Miss Park, I think it’d be wise of you to stop talking. As I’ve heard, you’ve gotten yourself into enough trouble today as it is.” 

Penelope settles back against the wall in defeat, and Rose and Hope make eye contact over her head. Hope frowns, Rose quickly mirroring the expression before they look away. Across the room, the Gryffindors are laughing at Penelope’s expense. 

“Rafael Waithe and William Jacques.” 

“Hope Mikaelson and Josette Saltzman.” 

Hope chooses not to throw a temper tantrum, merely nodding at Josette civilly. It’s not even a surprise anymore, if she were to be honest. But her heart stutters in her chest all the same. 

They’re allowed to sit down a second later when Snape finishes up pairing everyone off. 

“This afternoon, you will partake in self-studying.” The class groans. “Yes, I am aware that this is a difficult, challenging task for sixth-year students.” 

Yes, Hope thinks, Snape does not have many different expressions, but sarcasm is one he does perfectly. 

“In case you did not bring your textbook with you to class, I have a spare set in the front of the classroom. You will be reading pages 127-142, and your homework is a foot of notes due tomorrow. As you will soon find, the topic retains to a form of advanced magic known as a patronus. Can anyone tell me what a patronus is?” 

No one responds to him, so Hope raises her hand, almost bored. 

“A patronus is a projection of happiness, usually used to ward off dementors and other creatures of despair. It can also be used to send messages and it can take many forms, most commonly one of an animal.” 

“Indeed. Five points to Slytherin.” Ethan reaches over to high-five Hope. She swats his hand away quickly, turning back to Snape. Snape pauses slightly, as if he might regret what comes next. “During the next month, we will be discussing patronuses and practicing the spell. It is important that you do your homework, because we will begin tomorrow. I understand that it is a very difficult feat to accomplish, and it will take time for many of you. However, it will be very useful for those that can get the hang of it. Although, do not feel defeated if you can’t. I know many impressive wizards and witches who have failed to produce even a simple noncorporeal patronus.” 

Hope picks up a textbook at the front, getting started quickly. Nevertheless, she is constantly distracted by Josette. When the muggleborn even shifts a fraction of an inch, Hope can’t concentrate. Hope is too attuned to the sound of her breathing and the way her lips mouth words as she reads them on the textbook. By the end of the lesson, she has a single note written down on her parchment. 

The bell rings, representing the end of all classes, and Hope should be happy, but she’s not. She feels like time has gone by too quickly, and is almost relieved when Professor Snape stops them. 

“Before you leave, please note the sign up sheet on the door. Headmaster Dumbledore and I have agreed to rekindle the dueling club, and we welcome all students to attend. Have a good night.” 

The class erupts into gossip immediately, no one forgetting the accident that had occurred nearly three years ago last time the headmaster had thought to _rekindle_ the club. 

Without a second thought, Hope signs her name on the parchment. Her father would be terribly disappointed in her if she passed this opportunity up. 

The rest of her friends sign up as well, and with excitement growing between them, they begin the walk to the Slytherin common room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any ideas or suggestions for what i should make josie's patronus be? :)


	6. Chapter 6

After classes, the professors and staff choose to convene in the headmaster’s office once again, as Albus Dumbledore wished to be informed of any progress with the prophecy daily. 

“It was quite awful. Neither of them said a single word the entire lesson,” Professor Slughorn was talking, but it was not his usual voice. Instead, his tone was grave and somber, contradicting the usual joy he inflicted into it. 

“Well, they had _plenty_ to say during my class,” Professor McGonagall comments next, but the rest of the staff can tell that’s not good news by the frown planted against her lips. 

“Did they?” Dumbledore asks, not immediately understanding her sarcasm. The teachers around him sigh. 

“Oh, yes,” McGonagall affirms sardonically. “Miss Saltzman seems to particularly favor spiteful remarks. In fact, I would actually say that Miss Mikaelson was the least hostile between the two of them in their encounters.” 

“Wonderful!” drawls Professor Snape from behind McGonagall, before sobering up. “It’s hopeless, Albus. This afternoon, I gave my class the perfect excuse for childish chit-chat, and still, neither girl uttered insult nor sound.” 

“Maybe not so, Severus.” Dumbledore seems to think hard for several long seconds. “What were you saying earlier, Minerva? Concerning the incident with Penelope Park?” 

“Oh, that spoilt child!” McGonagall recounts slowly. “She had the nerve to transfigure Miss Saltzman’s uniform buttons into insects. That poor girl! If Miss Mikaelson hadn’t handed her that robe, I fear she would have faced even worse humiliation than she had already endured.” 

Snape’s eyebrows knit thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks up. “So that was Miss Mikaelson’s robe? I thought I recognized the M stitched into the right pocket.” 

McGongall nods, as if finally realizing the implications of such a generous act. Dumbledore smiles—a hint of satisfaction raising the corners of his lips—and then places his attention back to Snape. 

“It might not be so hopeless, yet,” he says, an odd half-smirk on his face, but Professor Sprout quickly disagrees. 

“I am afraid that the omens Sybil prophesied have already arrived. My plants are already beginning to become unresponsive and uncooperative. This morning, I had a Shrivelfig catch fire. Let me assure you, Albus, that catching fire is not in a Shrivelfig’s nature. Furthermore, it rained the entirety of this morning. We are only in October!” 

Snape and McGonagall roll their eyes. Not a single person could have missed the peculiar weather that morning. However, the room quickly grows frantic with the obvious harbingers. Demented suggestions begin to be offered. 

“Let’s dose them with a love potion,” says Professor Flitwick suddenly, crazily, madness written between the wrinkles of his forehead. 

Professor McGonagall stares in disbelief as the entire room quiets in contemplation.

“Would that work?” Dumbledore voices, the madness consuming him as well. Snape and McGonagall meet eyes above his head, the both of them frowning. 

“Merlin, are you seriously considering this, Albus?” McGonagall grabs a hold of him, her hands wrapping tightly around his wrists. 

The entire room shakes themselves out of it. 

“Of course not, Minerva,” Dumbledore replies, but his words are stiff and rushed. It has only been a day, but McGonagall can see that the stress of the prophecy has already put him through. The light has almost entirely left his eyes, and the previous positive aspects of their predicament have been sucked dry. 

“I have a plan,” he says, shrugging off her worried gaze. “Something we should have done a long time ago.” 

—

“—So, in the spirit of promoting nonmagical and magical relations and discouraging blood purity ideals, we are implementing a mandatory dress code every Friday.” 

Dumbledore could barely finish before he was interrupted by cries of shock and outrage. He sighs as the students so obviously overreact. The teachers around him sit in similar surprise, as they also hadn’t been informed of the new policy until that very moment. 

“You must show up to your classes in muggle attire, and any person deliberately avoiding the rule will automatically receive two night’s detention. We will also be allowing all students—including those under third year—to visit Hogsmeade Village this weekend to prepare for the following Friday. Gladrags Witch and Wizardwear have joined me on this venture and have agreed to carry in a new shipment by Saturday. Thank you for your attention. Have a good day.” 

Dumbledore looks around the great hall and stifles the urge to laugh at the looks on the students’ faces, ducking down behind his goblet of pumpkin juice as the impulse overwhelms him. 

“Muggles wear different clothes than us?” Penelope asks as the headmaster finishes up, too confused to be angry. Hope is also confused for the most part. 

“Haven’t you ever paid attention during Muggle Studies?” Ethan pipes up next to her, sipping on orange juice. 

“Why would I even attend it? That’s an elective class,” Penelope says, and Ethan promptly chokes on his juice. Hope moves out of the way as the liquid spews towards her, and chuckles as it hits Ryan next to her. He sneers at Ethan before performing a quick _scourgify_ on his robes. 

“You mean to tell me that class wasn’t mandatory?” Ethan ignores the seventh year, directing his question at Penelope. 

“Even if it was, you still paid attention in it?” she laughs sharply, and Ethan tries to laugh with her, but Hope can tell he’s nervous. He glances anxiously at Rose, and Hope finds it weird but doesn’t comment. 

“Still, that Dumbledore is a fool if he thinks I’m wasting a single _knut_ on muggle clothes,” she begins to rant, and Hope quickly tunes her out and continues what she’s been doing the entire morning—secretly staring at Josette Saltzman, who’s still wearing her robe like it didn’t matter. 

Does she not understand what possessions mean to a pureblood family? 

Or does she? And she’s just mocking Hope with it? 

Merlin, the muggleborn might as well have been wearing a Mikaelson ring. 

It wasn’t like Hope could ask for it back either. Not that she particularly wanted to. She had five other robes just like it, and now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure Josette had a single Slytherin robe of her own. It was weird to think about, mostly because Josette’s sister had her own Gryffindor robe. It just didn’t really make sense, that’s why Hope was thinking about it. Not for any other reason at all. 

“Hey, we’re gonna be late for Potions,” says someone to her left, touching gently at her elbow. It’s Rose, who is smiling, far too innocent and forgiving. Hope feels like she’s going to implode from guilt. It gnaws at her insides, and crawls around every repulsive thought she’s had lately. She wonders how long she has been caught up in Josette Saltzman for them to be late for Potions. 

“We’re fine,” Penelope comments from her other side. “Slughorn’s fat ass hasn’t been able to leave his pudding.” 

“Pen,” Rose admonishes, but Penelope only laughs and the three of them start off for the dungeons. Today, they only have an hour period for potions, and they have double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hope’s been dreading that class the entire night. Deep down, she knows she could never produce a patronus. At least, her father had never been able to. 

Like Penelope suggested, they arrive almost ten minutes before Slughorn gets to the classroom. 

That’s also to say, ten minutes after Josette gets to the classroom. She’s with Anna Lowly again, and Hope can tell they’re becoming fast friends. It makes her upset when she allows herself to think about it for more than a moment or two at a time. 

“Merlin, Josie, that did not happen!” the Lowly girl says, laughing hard. 

“It did!” Josette insists, her eyes alight with glee and the biggest smile Hope has ever seen on her lips. Her gaze shifts in her laughter, and swiftly meets Hope’s own. Hope looks away quickly enough—embarrassed to be caught staring—but not quickly enough as to miss the way Josette’s smile fades. 

Slughorn does not allow any room for talking when the lesson finally begins, and Hope is almost relieved. She would not know what to say if he did. 

They take notes the entirety of class, and Hope feels the small space between her and the muggleborn as if it was miles wide. The distraction causes her handwriting to become sloppy and rushed as she misses countless words spoken by Slughorn, and finally, near the end of the period, her hold on her quill has become too tight. The feather bends and breaks, and in her surprise she knocks over her ink jar. It spills all over the sleeves of her white button up and her notes, and the whole class stares her down. 

However, Josette barely glances in her direction and doesn’t even falter, continuing to write on her own parchment paper. Her lack of attention somehow disappoints Hope, and she feels her cheeks on fire as she spells away the mess. In her agitation, she blunders the spell and the ink on her paper disappears altogether—including the notes she had written down. 

Hope crunches up the paper in anger and shoves it into her book bag as Slughorn dismisses them, ignoring Rose and Penelope as she becomes the first person to leave. 

Today, she doesn’t have Transfiguration, Charms, or Arithmancy, which is a victory in itself. That means she’ll only have to sit through one more class with Josette Saltzman in it. Her only classes left are Double Herbology and Double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Luckily, she shares Herbology with Ethan. It was one of the few classes she actually enjoyed and had always found peace with the plants there. They also shared the class with Hufflepuff—who never caused trouble and were nice enough to talk with—and Gryffindor—who were easy enough to ignore. 

She meets Ethan by the forest line and they walk to the greenhouses together. 

“Why are you in a mood?” he asks her along the way, after the third time she’s answered him with a one-word response. 

“I’m not,” she says, and pretends that her right sleeve doesn’t still feel heavy despite the fact that she ridded and dried it off of ink an hour ago. 

“Alright,” he accepts, backing off. “I’m here, though.” She looks at him curiously. 

“If you need to talk, I mean,” he clarifies, and she thanks him shortly. She appreciates him dearly, but if she said as much it might go to his head too far—or worse, someone else could hear. 

“I heard from this morning’s class that we’re working with Fanged Geranium,” he says as they finally approach the greenhouse they have class scheduled in. 

“Really? Didn’t we work with those last year?” she asks, and he nods. The memory is vivid, since half the fifth year class had gotten bitten and a quarter of those had to go to the infirmary. “And Sprout still thinks that’s a good idea?” 

Ethan laughs but only shakes his head, and they find seats in the back of the greenhouse benches. She spots Elizabeth Saltzman towards the front, but finds pretty quickly that Josette wasn’t taking the class like her sister. 

“Hi, all.” Professor Sprout is a likable enough teacher that the class greets her back. “Today we will be working with Fanged Geranium. You will each find one in front of you to work with today. Yes, I understand that last year’s..._catastrophe_...is still fresh in our minds, but I also know that you sixth-years are smarter and more mature, and that will not happen again. Correct?” The class nods eagerly in response, and the three lone Slytherins in the room roll their eyes. 

Herbology wasn’t a very popular class to take as students got older, and, moreover, barely any Slytherin students elected to take it past fifth year. As a result, Hope Mikaelson, Ethan Machado, and Sebastian Pyre sat together in the back—the only ones who were interested enough to continue it. 

“To begin, we will be inserting mild sedatives into these plants. Be careful, as you may have to inject multiple doses. Then we will spend the rest of our first hour extracting its seeds. I know this is a stretch from last year, where we only located the seeds. The second hour will then be used to test these seeds in various potions and analyze and examine their effects.” 

Hope reaches forward to grab the sedative Sprout had signaled, and is immediately surprised to see that the Fanged Geranium has already tried snapping at her. She pins it with an evil look and it steadily begins to lean away from her. She takes advantage, reaching for the sedative again and administering it into the plant’s main vein on its left leaf. The plant shrivels almost immediately. 

She glances at Ethan’s plant to make sure she’s doing everything right, and finds his shriveled as well. Sebastian is having slightly more trouble, to the point where Ethan hovers over his arm and injects the sedative into Sebastian’s plant for him. 

Sprout makes the entire class put on a second pair of gloves for the next part, and Hope’s eyes shift beneath the foggy goggles strapped to her head. 

“I’m Sybil Trelawney and I make up fake prophecies to scare the whole school,” Ethan is doing an impression of the Divination teacher next to her with his own large pair of goggles, and she chokes down a laugh as Professor Sprout passes them. 

“You may now start the extraction. You have all your supplies and instructions in front of you,” she informs the class, and Hope immediately grabs her tweezers. 

“First to get all twelve seeds wins,” she says, not bothering to declare the prize, and Ethan and Sebastian scramble for their own tweezers. She gets through the first half pretty quickly, digging beneath the plant’s roots at a speed which she really safely shouldn’t. 

It’s at this point that her mind drifts, and at this point that she later remembers and regrets. It’s been forty-five minutes since she’s allowed herself to actively think about Josette Saltzman, and like an infection it invades her brain slowly and then all at once. She wonders if Josette had also felt their connection that first time in the great hall, and if she had ruined it with her words later that night. 

She also takes the time to despise the fact that they hadn’t been able to talk in Potions, and takes the time to imagine what it will be like in a couple of hours, when she’s with the muggleborn again in DADA. She quickly begins to hate the other girl, if nothing more than for consuming her every thought. It had only been a couple of days, and yet, obsession and infatuation had surrounded each and every thought she could produce. 

She’s too busy picturing Josette in her mind’s eye to see the danger in her current reality. It comes too suddenly but somehow too late, and Ethan pushing her is not enough to warn her. 

The Fanged Geranium had woken up from its slumber minutes ago, and had been growling at her for the past thirty seconds. Her left hand is now firmly logged into the dirt of the plant’s pot, and she can’t take it out fast enough. Somewhere in her head, she can remember Professor Sprout cautioning them that it might take multiple sedatives to fully tranquilize the plant. 

She pulls her hand out, but the plant has already latched onto her wrist and she watches in horror as its fangs pop out to encircle the skin left exposed by the end of her glove and bite down. Somehow, some of its teeth make it passed her actual glove and tear into the skin of her palm and fingers. 

She yelps immediately, the pain making her teeth clench so hard it hurts her mouth and she can barely register the entire class turning to look in her direction. 

She fights through the agony and forces her right hand to cross over her left to grab a sedative and deliver it into the vein of another leaf. Tears overwhelm her eyes until she sees blurred, red-crimson paint the plant as she finds her mark and the Fanged Geranium finally withers away. 

She sucks in a breath as the pain hits her more strongly, and pulls off her glove with her other hand. The glove hadn’t been enough protection, because all she sees is blood, blood, blood—and there’s too much of it that she feels very, very faint. 

“H-hope!” Ethan is shaking her, and when she glances at him his entire button-up is nearly soaked with blood. God, what had she done? 

She can’t get her hand to unclench correctly, and her fingers shake too much. Something slips out between them—the last seed she had been previously digging for. 

“I won,” Hope says, and then passes out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m probably horrible but i laughed so much through this chapter haha hope you enjoyed it :)


	7. Chapter 7

She wakes up an hour or two later in an infirmary bed, which isn’t completely unfamiliar to her after playing quidditch for the past five years. The first thing she becomes aware of is the ache in her wrist. And her sinuses are burning. 

“Fuck,” she curses, because her throat feels like someone scrubbed it raw and then poured acid down it. It’s probably not the best thing to do since when she opens her eyes Madame Pomfrey greets her. She’s dimly aware of Ethan and Sebastian laughing just behind them. 

“Well, hello, dear,” Pomfrey says, and Hope winces as the pain fully sets in. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.” 

Hope eyes the disgusting looking liquid in the vial she’s holding out, before taking it hesitantly. She opens the stopper and nearly throws up at the smell. 

“Maybe later,” she says, trying to hold back her trademark sneer, and puts it on top of her bedside table. 

Pomfrey mutters something about “stubborn Slytherins” before standing up from the chair she was sitting on before. Hope inquires as to what happened, and the matron slowly informs her. 

“Most of the damage was done to your wrist since you were wearing gloves. However, we weren’t able to magically heal any of it due to the essence of Fanged Geranium poison. Attempting to would—in all probability—propel you into a coma, or even kill you. We were able to administer the antidote fast enough, but the poison will most likely stay in your system for another few days, and we cannot pursue any concrete remedy until then. The plant also managed to tear into the major radial artery of your wrist, and you suffered profound blood loss.” 

Hope takes the time to finally look at her arm, which is extensively bandaged from her wrist to her palm. Her skin is too sensitive under it, and the magic in her blood is centering entirely in her arm. For the first time, it makes her feel uncomfortable. 

“When can I leave?” 

“Leave?!” Pomfrey voices in exasperation. “I have half the mind to keep you here for the rest of the week.” 

“I feel fine,” she growls out, already sitting up and trying to be released from the confines of the white sheets. 

“_Right_,” Sebastian drawls from behind Pomfrey. “That explains why you’re in the hospital wing.” 

“Shut up, Pyre,” she says through clenched teeth, having the sudden instinct to reach for her wand. She finds her book bag in Ethan’s grip. 

“Make me, Mikaelson,” he leans forward too, his eyes alight in glee, but Ethan slaps a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back. Usually, she keeps her wand up her sleeve, but she had elected to put it away for the Herbology lesson. 

“Ethan, hand me my wand so I can shove it up his ass—“ 

“Quiet! Quiet! I will not have childish banter in my hospital wing!” Pomfrey hushes them, and then sends Sebastian away. He sneers and makes a rude gesture behind her back, and then waves goodbye to Hope. 

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey—“ She starts, spite in her voice because she knows that Sebastian can still hear them, but the strict matron whirls on her as well. 

“And you! You will stay here until I permit you to leave!” Hope sighs, leaning back into her bed in false defeat. She knows she’ll get her way sooner or later. “And you _will_ take that draught or so help me Merlin—“ 

“Poppy, give the girl a break,” a lazy voice utters from the door, and the Slytherin looks to see Professor Snape and his robes billowing behind him. Pomfrey stands up again and meets him halfway, and they talk in low, hushed whispers for several minutes. 

“What did I miss?” she asks Ethan the second the adults had decided to ignore the both of them. 

“Lunch, for starters,” he tells her. “Rose and Penelope also visited you, but you were asleep and they had to go to class. Pyre and I have been with you since Sprout levitated your ass from the greenhouse to here.” 

She cringes in humiliation, and Ethan takes the time to hand her her bag and wand. She takes them both with her right hand, and in her distraction she fails to notice him unstopping the forgotten draught by her bed. 

In a single sudden motion, he rushes her, his left hand coming around to lay flat against her face as he tries to force her mouth open, and his other hand holding the vial of liquid up. She fights against him, despite her current disability, and they struggle against each other for a couple of long seconds. Pomfrey and Snape barely glance at them, only continuing their discussion. 

“C’mon, H, open up,” he says, and in that single moment he gains the advantage and vile, putrid fluid tumbles down her mouth. She chokes on it, and even after the repulsive taste has left her throat, she coughs. 

“I’m going to kill you,” she deadpans, scorn stretching the corners of her lips. 

“You feel better, no?” He smiles, and she feels like punching him. But it’s true. Seconds after taking it, she is already feeling the draught’s effects, and relief floods her like a cool balm against her arm. 

“Don’t expect an invitation to my family’s annual ball this coming Christmas,” she says instead of expressing any sort of gratitude, and he laughs loudly. The sound attracts the adults in the room, and Snape and Pomfrey turn to them simultaneously. 

“Mister Machado, may I ask why you are not currently attending my class?” Snape questions, with a deceiving note of curiosity. Hope wonders what time it actually is. Had DADA actually already started? 

“S-sir,” Ethan stutters pathetically, but manages to collect himself quickly. “I’m sure you can understand my unwavering concern in my best friend.” 

“Yes, as I’m sure you can understand what happens to the students I catch ditching my class,” Snape easily replies, and Ethan leaves in a panic, throwing a peace sign at Hope swiftly. Typically, students caught ditching were given a week of detention with Snape. 

“As for you—“ Snape strides the few short paces to her bed. “—imagine my surprise, when I discovered my star pupil was bested by a mere plant.” 

Snape and her have always had a connection. She’s sure his relationship with her father is part of that, but she’s always been a favorite. 

“Yes, it is terribly humiliating,” she agrees. “Sign me out?” 

“I don’t know,” Snape contemplates. “I’m rather content to let you scour in shame for a couple of days.” 

“I have a quidditch game Saturday morning,” she grits out, to the amusement of Snape, who chuckles with no smile. It’s weird to hear, and even weirder to see. 

“Madame Pomfrey says you’re in no state to play—“

“I’m the captain!” she argues, cutting him off. She throws out her hands in anger and immediately regrets it as the motion hurts her. “And besides, Madame Pomfrey doesn’t know shit—“

“Uh uh,” he tuts. “Profanity is not indicative of an extensive vocabulary.” 

“Whatever,” she seethes, already imagining the way she’ll have to explain this to her team. They had been so excited during their morning practice, almost vibrating with energy as they discussed their game that would occur in three day’s time. She sits up with renewed vigor. “You can’t do this to me! We don’t have a replacement seeker! You’ll be dooming us to lose, to Hufflepuff no less!” 

“Oh, stop your whining,” he grumbles finally, and Hope realizes that he was always going to let her go, and he just wanted to torture her first. “Poppy has agreed to let me sign you out, on the condition that you remember to take your medicine daily. You’ll also have to come back in a few days so she can take out your stitches and re-wrap your hand. The current bandage has a spell on it, so it should remain clean and sanitary. If you do anything to injure it again, I will ensure your stay in here for a whole month. Do you understand me?” 

She only nods, using her right hand to move the sheets she’s buried in. 

“Alright,” he says, pulling himself up as well. “Do you feel well enough to accompany me to class? Or shall I walk you to your room?” 

She decides to just join him in DADA, since she’s been dramatic enough for one day. She can’t afford to look weak any longer. She can already imagine how fast news of what’s happened has swept the school, and her cheeks pink with the mere thought of it. 

He informs her that they’re about an hour into DADA, and that he’s left the class to the supervision of his TA, Ryan Clarke. Hope had never seen him in that class before, which is slightly odd but it’s more likely due to the fact that she wasn’t paying attention. 

So, they walk into the classroom together, an hour late, and it’s no wonder when all the students turn in their seats to look at them. She walks into the room, and they all quiet down in unison, and a hush breaks across the room as Snape follows her in. 

She most immediately catches Rose and Penelope’s eyes, and she nods at them before her own gaze snaps somewhere else. She finds Josette looking right back at her, her eyes glancing to her bandaged wrist. It feels more heavily suddenly, and Hope feels an awful panic to look literally anywhere else. The moment passes and she quickly makes her way to her seat. Josette isn’t sitting in the usual seat next to her, but with her own friends and sister on the other side of room. It is swiftly made clear that the class took the opportunity of Snape’s absence to change seats to fit their own preferences. 

Professor Snape himself moves to stand at the front of the room. 

“It appears that Mister Clarke has permitted you all to work in your preferred pairs, but now that I’m here, please move back to the seats I previously chose for you.” 

Some students mutter underneath their breaths, and the shifting of chairs momentarily sounds across the room before everyone goes back to their own seats. 

Josette sits down next to her with an exaggerated huff, and Hope’s heart convulses.She sighs quietly and resists the urge to wring her hands together. Hating muggles and muggleborns had been so much easier before the summer. It had been so much easier last year, when she could remain ignorant and clueless. But then _summer_ had happened, and it had become so much harder to pretend. 

“Now, I trust that you have all been practicing the task given to you by my TA?” 

The few students that like Snape in the classroom nod. 

“Good. Visualizing your happiest memory is essential to this process—and I would even say the most important part to producing a corporeal patronus. Please take the next couple of minutes to remember this memory and keep it active in your mind.” 

The class grows silent once more, and when Hope glances over she sees that mostly everyone has their eyes shut. She almost laughs, and she wonders how much she really missed during her short stay in the hospital wing. It’s obvious that no one but her is confused by Snape’s words. 

But she doesn’t feel safe enough to close her eyes, and stares hard at her desk as she tries to remember a time where she was happy. She becomes frustrated fast when such an instance doesn’t appear immediately. Her family pops into her head, like a bubble, but the bubble is blurry and within seconds it has popped. She drums the fingers of her right hand in annoyance on the table. Her left hand stays limp in her lap. 

“It’s hard to concentrate with you brooding so close to me.” The words are whispered from her side, barely carried by the slight breeze in the classroom, and she dimly thinks that she almost imagined them. She looks over and finds Josette with her eyes still closed, but she’s sure by the smirk on the muggleborn’s face that the words had been hers. 

“My apologies,” she bites out sarcastically, not missing the way Josette is still wearing her fucking robe. She should insult her, throw it in her face, embarrass the hell out of her, but she can’t find anything else to say and closes her mouth. 

The rest of the room has begun whispering as well, and Maya Machado in front of Hope takes the chance to turn around. 

“What happened to you?” she asks, but Hope hears more interest than concern in her voice. Maya’s partner Emma turns back to glance at them briefly with suspicion. Hope rolls her eyes. 

“A stupid fucking plant,” she answers, not even bothering to whisper because—weirdly—half the class is yelling at this point. What’s even weirder, is that Snape hasn’t bothered to tell them to shut up yet. 

“Aww, poor baby,” Maya coos, and Hope wants to beat the crap out of her. “Want me to kiss it better?” 

“You can kiss my ass,” she says, instead of reaching over the table and hitting her, and Maya turns back to her partner, but not before another attempt at playful flirting. 

“Kinky,” the girl laughs out. 

When Hope turns back to her own partner, Josette’s cheeks are burning and her eyes are no longer closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will feature dueling club :)) i’ll reply to any comments and requests by tonight, thank you for sticking with this story :)


	8. Chapter 8

Snape informs them towards the end of class that the first dueling club meeting is scheduled right after dinner. 

Hope stands up to leave with her papers in her right hand and grabs her bag with her left hand, forgetting herself, and because of her weakened state it drops to the floor. Josette lingers in front of her, her eyebrows furrowed as if contemplating whether or not to help, before her gaze shifts and she leaves. 

Hope sighs and places her papers back on the desk and then bends down to pick up the dropped bag, knowing she wouldn’t have helped Josette either if their positions were reversed but somehow still disappointed. Hope pretends she doesn’t search for a head of brown hair as she leaves the classroom, too. 

Her friends all meet up together in the Slytherin common room, and they spend the next two hours complaining about homework and talking shit about professors. 

“Who the fuck does McGonagall think she is?” Maya says, and Hope pushes the girl’s legs off her lap before standing up. She glances at the assignment Maya is working on. 

“Is that the Animagus one?” she asks, and Maya nods. “I finished that a week ago.” 

She only says it because she knows it’ll make the other girl angrier, and Penelope laughs beside her. 

“Can I copy?” Maya stands up, too, pleading, and Hope rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t think so,” she tells her. “Last time I let you copy you plagiarized word for word and got us three days of detention with Filch.” 

“That was a different time! I was less mature then, I know better now,” Maya whines, but Hope only moves passed her. She rubs her wrist absentmindedly, and ignores the way Ethan stares at it so obviously. 

Ethan had panicked during the incident, nearly screaming at her as it happened, but they can’t talk about it. They _won’t_ talk about it. 

“Did you take your medicine?” Rose speaks up from where she’s sitting on a couch next to Ethan. 

“I’m going to right now,” she says, turning away towards the staircase to the dorms. She had actually been thinking about the pain in her arm for the last two hours, but her pride hadn’t allowed her to do anything about it. Though, Rose’s concern makes Hope’s chest bloom.“Do you guys want to grab food when I come back down?” 

Everyone assents but Maya. 

“I have to finish this—“ she gestures to the parchment in front of her —“but I’ll meet you all at dueling club.” 

Oh. Hope had managed to forget that was happening. 

“Right,” she says, even though no one can hear her. She jogs up the stairs and looks for the set of potions Madame Pomfrey had so kindly gifted her. She finds them near her bedside table, and chokes down a gag as the liquid passes her lips. She feels almost immediately better, and the terrible taste is instantly worth it. 

During dinner, she doesn’t estimate the distance to her cup of pumpkin juice correctly and consequently slams her injured hand into the table. She becomes nauseous shortly after and loses her appetite. All in all, she’s had a pretty shitty day. 

Quickly, it’s time for the start of dueling club, and they all begin to get up from the table and follow the rest of the students. 

She sees Rose eyeing her pale complexion out of the corner of her eye. 

“Do you think you feel well enough to duel?” the girl asks her, reaching out and holding her elbow softy. Although Hope knows that she’s only worried, she still has to quell the urge to growl at her. 

“I’m fine,” she bites out, and Penelope comes up behind her and slings an arm around her shoulder. She resists the impulse to shrug it off, and tries to ignore the stinging in her wrist. 

“We’re about to kick some ass, Partner,” Penelope says with a smirk, and Rose looks visibly disgruntled. 

“C’mon, P, you had her last time,” Rose says, and they start arguing in front of you. They had pulled the same thing last time the dueling club was revived. Dumbledore—as a safety precaution—had forced everyone to duel as partners, and her friends had fought over who would be hers. In the end, Penelope had won and the pair had been a force to be reckoned with during the dueling competition that had followed the first couple of practices. 

“None of you get me,” she decides finally, realizing that she probably should have interrupted sooner. “I already promised Maya.” 

“That bitch,” Rose curses, all in good humor. “She told me she was gonna partner with her brother!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ryan comes up behind the three of them, scaring them adequately enough that they all hit him simultaneously. 

“Ouch,” he grumbles, rubbing at his shoulders. “But, yeah, I read Snape’s lesson plans. He’s choosing your partners.” 

_ What the fuck?  _

“I’m not feeling too well,” Hope says, because she’s not going to go to a club where she can’t hang out with her friends and feel comfortable. She holds her wrist up as if the pain’s suddenly too much to handle. “The poison must be getting to me. Have fun, I’ll see you guys later—“ 

She tries to leave but Penelope and Rose pull her back by her elbows. 

“You’re a lot of things, Mikaelson, but I didn’t take you for a coward,” Penelope sneers, glee in her eyes that Hope doesn’t immediately see. Rose laughs lightly, but quiets when she sees the look on Hope’s face. 

“Not a coward,” Hope voices, her teeth clenching before she relaxes them. At first she had thought Penelope was insulting her, but she can see now that she was only joking and trying to goad her into staying. “Just smart. Have you noticed the way the teachers have been pairing us up lately?” 

“I guess that’s fair,” Penelope agrees. “Snape did make me partner with that Gryffindor shithead of a blood traitor. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling with that mud—“ 

“Let’s just hurry,” Hope cuts her off, her heart pounding. They had been walking around almost aimlessly until this moment, following the crowd. Penelope stops and pins her with a look at being interrupted, and Hope glances away. “You know how Snape is.” 

She picks up her speed, and her friends follow her, but she doesn’t miss the weird looks they’re giving each other behind her back. 

The dueling club’s room is Snape’s usual classroom, but it’s been transformed to act as a training center with a long, rectangular stage in the middle. The room has mostly been cleared of chairs, and the lighting is dimmer than it normally is. 

Hope can tell that an age restriction hadn’t been added to the club when she recognizes a couple of first years running around. She spots Pedro among them and curls her fingers in a wave when he spots her, too. 

She shakes her head at him and he slows down somewhat, almost tripping on his robes as he does. She wonders why his robe isn’t fitted correctly—she knows his parents would despise that—before remembering he had asked her on the first day to add a couple of inches to the sleeves and ends. He was always insecure about his height, and though she had transfigured his robe she still tried to teach him that large did not equal power. 

Snape welcomes everyone in friendly enough, and soon all the students are standing around the stage. 

He gives a short introduction to the first years before moving onto the real stuff. 

“Now, Headmaster Dumbledore was kind enough to allow Professor Slughorn and myself to continue the dueling club after the disaster that transpired three years ago—“

Hope feels a tug at her sleeve and looks down to her left, where Pedro is looking up at her with curious eyes. 

“What happened three years ago?” he asks, and she shushes him. He pouts. 

“—But that does not mean we won’t hesitate to revoke the club again if we catch students misbehaving or taking advantage. This training is a privilege, and the purpose of such discipline is to give you means to disarm an opponent should the time ever come. This is not an excuse to try out the new jinx or hex you’ve learned on your classmates.” 

Some second years and third years across from Hope groan openly, and Penelope next to her curses underneath her breath quite loudly. Hope elbows her in the side. 

“Furthermore, I have taken the initiative to partner you up per the registration sheet you all signed. There will be no complaints, and if you wish to drop this club, please see me after our allotted time has passed. Professor Slughorn and I have agreed to offer extra credit to all who stay and participate. We realize that might act as an..._incentive_...”

His gaze wanders over the more rambunctious students before settling. They quiet as they realize he’s looking at them. 

“...for some of you.” 

Slughorn takes the time to butt in, flicking his wand and long, large banners erupt across the air in front of the students. 

“...Moving on, here are your partners,” he says, nervously glancing at Snape who is still glaring at the group of students who had dared to talk while he was speaking. 

There’s at least eight banners, and Hope counts four on each side of the stage. They’re all a dark orange, and the font is almost like refined chicken scratch. Hope has to lean in to read it, and when she can put the letters together she starts to recognize names. She almost doesn’t want to look for her name, because a part of her thinks that if this class is anything like her other ones, she’ll match with Josette.

She had been trying hard not to think about her the entire day, and had mostly succeeded. The accident with her wrist had been a welcome distraction, and she had been rid of thoughts of the other girl for most of the afternoon. Now, however, the situation is almost impossible to not think about. 

She was sure she had seen the muggleborn sign up for the club as well, but looking around she’s not so sure. She hadn’t even seen the girl since DADA. 

Molten apprehension sets off a swarm of butterflies in her stomach, and Hope forces herself to look at the names on the banners. She finds hers toward the middle of the second list to her right, and dreadfully reads across to the second name by her own. 

It reads:

** Rose Nicot.  **

She breathes a sigh of relief, but somehow the breath gets caught in her throat with disappointment. 

But why was she disappointed? That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To distance herself from Josette as much as possible. But now that her wish has been granted it seemed too bittersweet. 

“There must be a mistake!” Penelope announces the next moment nearly directly into her ear, and Hope is totally confused. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she deadpans, and Penelope hurriedly points to the banner she had been reading to the left.

Towards the end, Hope finds:

** Penelope Park — Josette Saltzman **

“I got Saltzman,” she reiterates, like Hope can’t read, but Penelope sounds out of breath, as if she has finally fully realized what happened. 

“I got Rose,” Hope responds, very unhelpfully and unnecessarily, but she, too, is in shock. How had she been so lucky to get Rose, and how had Penelope been so unlucky to get Josette? 

Rose suddenly appears from across them with Ethan, and Hope notices the way their hands brush as they come apart and together again in the sea of frantic bodies. 

“Hey, I haven’t been able to find my name. What about you guys?” she asks, roughly shoving back a kid that’s just bumped shoulders with her for the fourth time, and Hope holds back the urge to laugh. She shakes herself out of the stupor that is still consuming Penelope. 

“Actually, we got each other,” Hope says, and Rose immediately squeals in delight. Ethan covers his hands with his ears dramatically, but when Hope’s eyes linger on his face she knows that he entirely adores the girl. She wonders how she had never seen it before. 

Rose reaches in to give her a side hug, before turning back to Penelope, who is silent and fuming. 

“P?” she prods, but Penelope doesn’t move and Hope is worried that she’ll explode. 

“She got Saltzman,” Hope says for her, and pretends that she doesn’t stumble on the last word. Her throat feels too narrow, and the breath entering her lungs doesn’t feel completely right. 

“Oh,” Rose says. Hope doesn’t think she understands. “Which one?” She can’t bring herself to say it, so she just points to the correct banner and watches as Rose’s lips mouth names. Her eyes widen a second later, and she meets Hope’s eyes very slowly. 

“Well, Ethan got his sister, so maybe it’s in alphabetical order? I don’t think Snape would deliberately—“

“Then I would be with Sebastian,” Penelope cuts her off, finally coming back to herself. Inside her mind, Hope pleads that she doesn’t throw another temper tantrum and embarrass them. 

“Okay, there’s no need to get upset,” Rose attempts to calm her. “There’s a chance this is all part of Dumbledore’s dumbass plan of encouraging unity—“

“I can’t believe him,” Penelope growls out, her fists clenching at her sides, and Hope momentarily admires the fact that she hasn’t thrown a huge fit yet. She’s changed from yesterday to now, and Hope wonders what McGonagall had told her after class. “I’m going to go talk to him.” 

“Hey!” Rose grabs her arm. “Saltzman isn’t worth it. Just kick her ass and be done with it.” 

They make intense eye contact for a long moment, and Hope’s heart stays still in her chest until Penelope looks away. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry—I don’t know why I’ve been acting so crazy. Father’s just been on my head lately,” she says, very softly that the group almost doesn’t hear it in the room. “You know?”

“Yes,” Rose agrees, her voice like a whimper, and Hope feels like she’s intruding on something. She thinks that maybe she doesn’t know her friends at all. 

“Alright,” Slughorn claps merrily, and the room falls quiet again. “These partners will remain until the end of the semester. After you find yours, you may begin practicing offensive and defensive magic with them. Remember, seek only to disarm your partner, not injure them. IfSeverus and I catch anyone using ab Unforgiveable curse, you will be automatically expelled.” 

“Who’s Severus?” It’s Pedro again, and Hope jumps in surprise. 

“How long have you been standing there?” She glances towards Penelope, wondering if the boy had heard any of their previous conversation. 

“Just now.” He smiles, like he’s being witty, and Hope’s eyes narrow. “So, who’s Severus?”

He absolutely butches the name, his memory failing him from having to repeat it a second time. She laughs. 

“That’s Snape’s first name,” she tells him. 

“Lastly, if you’re a first year, please come and see me,” Slughorn finishes, and Hope looks around the room to find that people are already scattering and splitting off on their own. 

She sees Pedro still standing by her. “Dude, go.” 

Rose and her find a spot in the corner, and they stand across from each other with their wands pointed out. They spend much of the time lazily exchanging offensive spells, and laughing at each other’s faces. 

“How do you think Penelope is faring?” Rose shouts after shooting off a foot-binding curse. Hope waves her wand and the spell dissolves in her shield. 

“Uh—“ Her arms fall limp at her sides as she looks around for Penelope. She spots her across the other side of the room, and her heart jolts into her throat. She briefly chokes on it and finds she can’t produce a sound. 

Josette and Penelope are arguing, a sneer of contempt written clear across Penelope’s face, and Josette’s arms are folded across her chest. Professor Slughorn stands between them, not even able to get a single word in. 

Hope desperately wishes she could hear their conversation, and slowly tears her gaze away to turn back to Rose.

“Not well,” she tells her, finally finding her voice. She gestures across the room and Rose follows her line of sight. 

“Honestly, I think she’s being a drama queen,” Rose says, and then promptly shuts her mouth, as if she hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Do you?” inquires Hope, very curiously. Rose opens her mouth and then closes it, like she’s trying to choose her words wisely. 

“I mean, the girl and her sister have only been here for three days and she’s acting as if they’re her mortal enemies.” She twirls her wand as she thinks about it. “It’s a bit much, right?” 

“Right,” Hope agrees, and then gets lost in her own thoughts. She wants to ask Rose what she specifically thinks about Josette, but she thinks maybe that would be a bit much, too. Then again, Rose had been acting perceptibly more _tame_ this year. She had stopped joining Penelope and the group in on bullying first year Gryffindors and muggleborns. She had stopped referring to them as mudbloods, and now that Hope really has the chance to think about it, she hadn’t really voiced her opinion on the matter since last year. 

Hope regards Rose quietly, watching as the girl stares hard at the flooring pattern, adrift in her own thoughts. Rose blinks suddenly and snaps her head to Hope, maybe like she’s just realized who she’s actually talking to. 

“At least, Pen’s giving her more attention than someone like Saltzman deserves,” Rose says, very slowly and calculating, and Hope thinks she looks like she’s trying to save face. She wonders if something changed over the summer for the other girl as well. 

A thick knot forms in her throat and she forces herself to swallow it, and the pair look away from each other, almost as if they’re children caught playing where they shouldn’t be. 

Snape and Slughorn call everyone over together minutes later, and Hope breaths relief in through her nose. It’s been an hour or so since the meeting has started, but Hope feels as if the air has only thickened since then. Just a few moments ago, it had gotten too _real_. 

“Now that you’ve had a chance to practice, how about some formal dueling? Any takers?” Slughorn chuckles as everyone keeps their heads down, trying to avoid dueling in front of the student body at all costs. His gaze swarms over the crowd, and Hope knows he’s going to pick someone involuntarily. 

His eyes lock with hers and she looks away, but of course she’s not fast enough to dissuade his attention. 

“Oh, yes! Miss Mikaelson, come right up!” She stays frozen, glaring at the floor because she won’t get away with glaring at a professor. Rose laughs behind her and pushes her toward the stage, and she flips the girl off before stepping up. This shouldn’t be so bad, anyways. In her six years of school, she’s never seen another student that could match her level of expertise in dueling. 

“Would anyone like to volunteer to act as Miss Mikaelson’s opponent?” Slughorn asks, trying to keep his voice light, but the threat is clear—_before I choose. _

Hope sends a pleading look to Rose and Ethan, but they only shake their heads with silent laughter. She looks around for Penelope but can’t find her, and now that she realizes it, she hasn’t seen Maya since a couple of hours ago. 

“Might I suggest a student of my own picking, Horace?” Snape walks up to the stage behind her, and she wonders where he’s been this entire time. He places a heavy hand on her shoulder, and Hope tries not to wince or turn away. 

“Miss Saltzman, perhaps?” The barest of a cruel smile reaches his lips. “She is currently the newest addition to my own house, and I would like to grasp some sense of her magical abilities.” 

He turns around, and—disbelieving—Hope follows his stare to locate Josette in the crowd. She’s standing in the back behind some of the taller kids in their grade, almost like she’s hiding. Her sister stands next to her, a look of distaste on her face like she’s been severely put off. Hope thinks that she possibly had assumed that ‘Miss Saltzman’ was referring to herself. 

Josette freezes, much like Hope had, and pink stains her cheeks. Hope thinks it suits her. 

“Well, Miss Saltzman, please do hurry.” Snape makes a movement with his hand, and Josette scurries to the stage, moving through the bodies and apologizing profusely to those she bumps into around her. 

Within a couple of strides, Josette clears the stage and reaches Hope. Snape and Horace step off the platform, leaving the pureblood and the muggleborn to stare at each other, only a couple of paces away from one another. 

“Go on,” Snape urges, even though they both likely know how a formal duel works. “Shake hands.” 

“Shake hands?” Hope turns to him, whispering, but it’s still clear to hear what she says. “We’re supposed to bow.” 

Snape ignores her, looking pointedly between the both of them. 

Neither of them make a move to put their hand out for several long seconds, and Hope folds her arms. 

“I said shake hands!” 

Hope rolls her eyes, unfolding her arms and reaching out to slap her uninjured hand out against Josette’sat the same time the muggleborn does. Their fingers sloppily collide without much care for half a second. Hope makes the point to wipe her hand on her pants shortly after, and they both turn around to position themselves on opposite ends of the stage. 

“That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?” Snape grumbles, and Hope completely disagrees. It was _terribly_ hard, because now her heart is beating with a ferocity almost too much to handle. 

“On the count of three, you may begin casting your chosen spell to disarm your opponent. Remember, you each only get one spell, and if you miss, you miss. We don’t want any _incidents_ occurring again.” 

“One.” Her eyes lock on Josette’s, and she sees a burning fury that makes her slightly nervous. Josette looks like she’s out for blood, but Hope is not going to just hand her a victory. 

“Two.” Her fingers curl around her wand more steadily, and she thinks that if she were to hold it any tighter, it might snap in half.

“Three.” 

“Expelliarmus.” Their spells meet in a magnificent glow of red before bouncing off of each other. Hope ducks as it soars over her head, and another spell reaches her lips. 

“Petrificus totalus!” she pronounces perfectly, but Josette dodges the spell easily enough and then Hope jumps back as she finds a jet of blue coming towards her. 

“Protego.” A light shield forms around her and the spell disintegrates within it, but she doesn’t have long to recover.

”Enough!” she distantly hears from Snape. 

“Stupefy!” Josette advances a second later, and Hope finds herself on the defense as the muggleborn fires spell after spell rapidly at her. 

She finds an opening and delivers another one of her own. 

“Impedimenta!” The spell hits Josette’s own shield, and the girl steps back in surprise before throwing one of her own. 

“Okay, girls, I think that’s adequate—“ Slughorn tells them, but his words get swallowed up. 

“Confringo!” A bright stream of orange releases from the tip of Josette’s wand and hurdles toward Hope. Hope thinks quickly and meets it with the countercurse. 

“Impervius!” 

Her spell swallows Josette’s own, and a white-opaque color consumes the room in a smoky cloud. When it diffuses, Hope and Josette stare at each other for a long moment. Hope notices that the entire room has gone quiet during the length of their duel, and is dimly aware of the fact that her chest is heaving. When she looks at Josette, she sees the other girl is panting as well. 

“Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman, that’s enough!” Together, the Slytherins make the decision to ignore Slughorn, and at the same time, they raise their wands again. 

“RELASHIO!” 

“INCARCEROUS!” 

Once again, the spells catapult towards each other at full force and combine in a grand explosion of red and white. The power of it sends both girls flying down their own sides of the stage, simultaneously knocking the wands out of their hands. 

Hope groans as her back hits the floor second to her injured hand, and immediately curls her arm into herself. She sits up and watches as Josette does the same, before realizing that this duel isn’t over yet. She still needs to win, and with this adrenaline pulsing throughout her body, she can barely feel the pain. 

She looks around for her wand and finds it a few feet away from her. She all but army-crawls towards it, constantly glancing over to Josette to watch her do the same. But Hope has recovered faster than the other girl, and she reaches her wand first. 

She gathers the strength to pull herself up to her feet, becoming instantly dizzy, but she sees through the nausea to cast another spell and end whatever this ugly excuse of a duel is. 

“Everte Statum!” She does the wand movements flawlessly, her voice clear and resounding loudly throughout the room, but the spell never reaches its mark. 

Although Josette doesn’t even have her wand, she gets to her feet. At first it seems like an idiot’s move, because the spell is doomed to hit her straight in the chest, but none of that happens. 

Instead, without a single sound, a bubble comes to form around Josette, and the spell bounces off of it and hits the high ceiling. Simultaneously, a flash of light appears in thin air and launches toward Hope. 

In her shock, she barely dodges it. 

The rest of the room collectively falls silent, even quieter than before. All Hope can hear is the sound of her harsh breathing. 

Josette had just performed a wandless and nonverbal spell—in the same instant—which is entirely unheard of for a sixth year. 

McGonagall comes crashing through the doors a second later. 

“Both of you. In my office. _Now_!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expelliarmus — disarms opponent 
> 
> Petrificus Totalus — freezes opponent 
> 
> Protego — protects caster from harmful spells
> 
> Stupefy — stuns opponent 
> 
> Impedimenta — slows opponent 
> 
> Confringo — lights object on fire 
> 
> Impervius — counteracts fire and water spells 
> 
> Relashio — makes opponent drop what they’re holding 
> 
> Iincarcerous — binds opponent with rope 
> 
> Everte Statum — makes opponent go flying


	9. Chapter 9

It's been roughly ten minutes since their disastrous duel, and the two girls are now standing in Professor McGonagall’s office alone. Hope doesn't know where the professor herself is, but she guesses that she's still talking to Snape and Slughorn. Even so, she doesn't think about it for more than a couple of seconds. Her mind is currently on the matter of the duel that had just transpired. 

She's embarrassed, to say the least. She couldn't even land her first disarming spell, and Josette had handled her last one as if it was a toddler’s toy. How could she let a muggleborn so publicly match her own skill? And even _surpass_ it? Josette had been flaunting around her wandless and nonverbal magic as if it was nothing, and Hope wonders if the girl had been playing with her to begin with. She wonders if the muggleborn could have ended the duel with a flick of her wrist, but chose not to. 

And now, why did McGonagall think it was a good idea to leave the both of them in one room alone? Perhaps she knew that neither one of them would risk expulsion to begin another fruitless duel, but still. The tension in the room is palpable, and every second Hope takes to breathe she almost suffocates in it. 

“This is all your fault.” Hope chooses to break the silence first. She glances at the other girl, but does not turn to look at her. 

“How?” Josette snaps, turning fully in fury. “You tried to set me on fire!” 

“You couldn’t have let yourself get hit?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows. This serves to make Josette much more irritated. 

“I was unarmed.” Hope looks at her with adeliberately blank face, and Josette becomes further exasperated. “You attacked me and _I_. _Was_. _Unarmed_!” 

Hope merely waves her off, and she briefly thinks that her own nonchalance is almost bothering even herself. 

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing,” she says, because she knows the other girl would have attacked her just the same if she hadn’t recovered her wand first. 

“Except I wouldn’t have, because I have honor,” Josette retorts instantly, so terribly sincere that Hope bristles. The implication that Hope doesn’t have honor nips at the pureblood’s heels. 

“Don’t talk to me about honor.” She takes a step forward, her eyes flashing dangerously. The Mikaelson ring on her finger suddenly feels heavy. Josette remains in her own position, not taking a step back like Hope first expects her to. “My family is the most influential, most powerful known to wizardingkind. I have more honor in my left shoe than you will ever know in your entire lifetime.” 

“Oh, here we go again with the pureblood elitist bigotry,” Josette sighs deeply, rolling her eyes. 

_ Where the fuck is McGonagall?  _

“You wish your blood was as pure as mine—“ Hope bites out, even though she doesn’t mean it. She just needs to win this argument, and maybe later she can pretend that she won the duel as well. 

“I would rather rot in Azkaban!” 

Hope clenches her fists in anger, but quickly discovers the error in doing that. The adrenaline from the duel has warn off, and now her hand is throbbing with a pain that has her eyes clenching momentarily. She won’t let Josette see the pain she's in, but she curses her all the same. 

“And you tore out my stitches!” she remarks, because she _had_ seen her bandages soaked with blood after the fight. Although, the crimson color’s gone now, as the enchantment on the bandages made sure her wounds stayed clean. 

Josette stares at her in surprise, before laughing without humor. 

“You don’t even see the hypocrisy.” Hope wants to ask what’s so funny, but Josette continues without any inquiry. 

“Stitches were invented and perfected by muggle doctors. _Muggle doctors_. Not wizarding healers. The only reason you didn’t bleed to death was because of them, but you can’t see past your blood-supremacy ideals to even realize it.” 

Hope doesn’t know what to say. Of course, she had always known that there were objects in this world not invented by wizards, but what was she supposed to say to that? 

Any previous retort she had prepared dies on her tongue. 

She finds that it doesn’t matter.

“What were you thinking, Severus? Or were you not thinking at all?” A muffled voice comes from behind the door, and both girls shift their bodies toward the sound. 

“I wished to see it, Minerva.” Snape sounds disgruntled. 

“Do you also wish to see the wizarding world end?” 

Alarmed at the weird phrase, the pair’s eyes meet in obvious confusion, forgetting their earlier argument in favor of puzzlement. Why would the wizarding world end because of a single duel? The words were too much to be mere exaggeration. 

“Shhh,” another voice booms, but this time Hope doesn’t recognize it. “They could hear you.” 

_That_ part makes it obvious that the girls were the two being discussed, and they both lean forward to hear more. No sound crosses their ears again, but they don’t have to wait long before the double doors open ruthlessly. 

“Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman,” Professor McGonagall acknowledges, her forehead stretched into thin lines. Professor Snape is just behind her, but no third person comes behind him. 

Hope glances at Josette to find her equally perplexed. A frown plays at her lips, and her eyes are narrowed at the floor. Hope’s gaze lingers for a moment too long before settling elsewhere. 

“Please take a seat, ladies.” Josette automatically sits down on the right chair in front of McGonagall’s desk as the professor herself sits, but Hope stays standing, crossing her arms stubbornly. Snape’s gaze locks on Hope, as if silently trying to force her to obey, but she ignores him and refuses to sit down. 

“To be truthful, I cannot sufficiently express how severely disappointed I am in the both of you,” McGonagall starts, pinching at the bridge of her nose. She stirs a small cup of tea with her other hand. “Professor Snape has taken the liberty to inform me of tonight’s events, and from what I walked in on, I believe I have an accurate account. You were both there for the start of the meeting, were you not?” 

They nod. 

“Then, is it easy to presume that you heard the guidelines for the club in its entirety?” 

They nod. 

“Yet, Professor Snape relates, that despite _three_ separate warnings, you still chose to ignore decorum in lieu of...what? _Winning one over the other_?” 

Hope opens her mouth, but a speedy look from McGonagall causes her to shut it. 

“I am afraid that this kind of carelessness and indulgence is something neither Professor Snape nor I can overlook.” 

“Moreover, we have agreed that you two are to serve two weeks of detention—“ Hope splutters, but the woman ignores her “—starting on the Monday of next week.” 

Josette is unblinking next to her, appearing unsurprised at the punishment. 

“While I am hesitant to postpone any type of punishment, it has occurred to me that the two of you in particular have had a—so to say—rough week, and we are all deserving of a small break. But that is also to say, should a repeat of this incident occur in the foreseeable future, I will not be so generous. Understood?” 

Josette nods quickly, ready to leave as fast as possible, but Hope stays frozen. Two weeks of detention? For what, an innocent duel in which no one had gotten seriously hurt? Two weeks of detention for a club the teachers had started in the first place? She had gotten in trouble in the past, but for nothing this _stupid_. Never had she gotten two weeks of detention. Maybe one or two days in a row, but never this much.And what had McGonagall meant by a _rough week_? Had she been monitoring them the past couple of days?

“Miss Mikaelson?” 

She can’t help it, she laughs. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, injecting false confusion into her voice. Josette is looking at her like she’s crazy, almost as if she might reach over and shake her out of it. “Two weeks of detention for a duel that got slightly out of hand?” 

McGonagall herself is shocked as well, but she recovers quickly. 

“Choose your next words very carefully, Miss Mikaelson,” she hisses out.

“No, really.” Her foot taps against the floor impatiently. “You’re going to punish us for seeking out the education a dueling club so entails? How can we ever hope to win a real duel if we’re confined to a single spell? And you, sir—“ She directs her attention at Snape. 

“I mean, you practically dragged Saltzman up to the stage yourself.” She doesn’t even realize that she’s defending the muggleborn in her own rant. She can’t take a second to focus on anything but the rage coursing through her veins. She can’t focus on the incredulous look on Josette’s face, or the small smile pulling at McGonagall’s lips. 

“No offense, Professor, but how can you penalize us for not listening to the rules when you essentially forced us to fight in the first place?” 

“Mikaelson, I suggest you stop talking before we are forced to—“ Snape cuts in, but he’s quickly interrupted. If only Hope could shut her mouth. 

“How can you teach that magic deserves reward and praise, and then turn around and discipline that magic when it doesn’t conform to your instructions? You haven’t even taken a second to commend Saltzman’s use of wandless and nonverbal magic, yet you’re so quick to—“

“I believe you’ve made your point, Miss Mikaelson!” McGonagall speaks sharply, and Hope knows she’s gone too far. “However, you’ve put too much consideration into the wrong one. While we admit that Miss Saltzman’s skills are, indeed, impressive and remarkable, and we do not want, in any way, to discourage them. We are not punishing you because of your magic, but because of yourdisregard for others. Your inattention to your surroundings could have harmed another student, and—as I said before—is something we cannot neglect.” 

In the silence of the room, Hope realizes that she had misspoken, and now sees that she had been a fool and too quick to anger. If Josette were to tell anyone about this, she would become the laughing stock of the school. 

“As for your unnecessary outburst,” Snape adds. “Ten points from Slytherin, and an extra day of detention for yourself, Miss Mikaelson. Dismissed.” 

Josette stands up quickly, and tosses a “Thank you, Professors” over her shoulder. 

Hope is right behind her, and neither of the professors miss the whispered “Kiss-ass.” 

The two students leave the room, continuing to bicker into the hallway outside.

“Maybe Albus was right,” Snape speaks up from next to McGonagall. She tilts her head and meets his eyes. He opens his mouth to elaborate. 

“Perhaps, it is not so hopeless, after all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments :) they really do encourage me to keep updating, and i will be replying to them all shortly!


	10. Chapter 10

The snake in the portrait of the Slytherin common room’s entrance cackles as Hope reaches the faux-door. Josette and her separated soon after Professor Snape had dismissed them, and, although Hope isn’t sure, she thinks that Josette was headed in the direction of the Gryffindor tower. 

“Wait until your father hearssss about thissss,” the snake hisses shrilly, and Hope automatically ignores it. 

She mutters the password and the wall crumbles open slowly. She takes her time stepping through it, because she knows she’ll be instantly assaulted the second she walks in. 

Just as she thought, her friends drag her to the nearest couch when they see her. There’s a crowd of students gathered around the room, but with a single glare they’re sent scattering up to the dorms. 

“Two weeks?” Penelope nearly yelps after Hope has told them everything about what happened in Professor McGonagall’s office.

“And a day,” Hope adds, putting her feet up on the green ottoman in front of the couch. She throws an arm around the back of the couch itself, closing her eyes in heavy  disinterest. She’s done with this entire thing, if she were to be honest. 

“If it makes you feel better, I have a week of detention with McGonagall,” Penelope tells her. 

“For that stunt you pulled with Saltzman?” Maya asks, in such a way that Hope just knows she’s about to become gross. “I heard she was wearing bright pink knickers.” 

“Pale pink,” Hope corrects absentmindedly, underneath her breath, completely by mistake. She relaxes when she realizes that no one heard her, but the thought still keeps her paralyzed to the couch all the same. She keeps her eyes closed as her friends to continue to argue over the matter. 

Hope almost falls asleep somewhere between Rose and Penelope arguing over whether or not Penelope can curse Snape for the day’s events.

“There’s no use getting angry at our own Head of House..” Rose says from her position on a large, velvet chair. 

“No use? Of course there is. First he pairs me with a blood traitor in Defense, and then makes you duel a lowly mudblood? Hope! You should be appalled.” Hope is decidedly not appalled. 

“_No use_?” Penelope repeats again, disbelieving. Hope glances up and sees that the girl is almost foaming at the mouth. Hope arches an eyebrow at her. She’s seriously not in the mood. “Her father tried to kill yours, and then Snape basically handed her the chance to try to kill you, too! Where’s your sense of loyalty?” 

“Loyalty,” Maya barks out in laughter. “What are you, a Hufflepuff?” 

Hope doesn’t feel like talking anymore. She’s had a pretty exhausting day, and the reminder that she’s not actively hating Josette Saltzman despite the fact that they’re supposed to be enemies is too much for her to handle. She just wants to finish out her studies and leave Hogwarts, but that would be too easy, she supposes. 

“Snape’s a family friend,” Hope drawls out lazily, only because everyone’s waiting for her to speak. “He would never intentionally try to hurt me.” 

Penelope fumes silently for the next couple of minutes, and Hope is almost grateful for her. She’s the only one truly upset for Hope, and her friendship has been unrelenting during the past couple of years. She defends Hope without question, even when the pureblood doesn’t ask to be defended. 

The girls go up to bed an hour later, when Hope can barely keep her eyes open but doesn’t show it. She collapses into her bed without having to converse with the others in her room, and she falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow. 

The next two days pass uneventfully, or at least uneventfully enough that Hope doesn’t want to rip her hair out. She doesn’t have Defense Against the Dark Arts or Potions until Monday, and she isn’t forced to talk to Josette in Transfiguration because McGonagall decides to lecture on both days. 

Professor Sprout has banned her from the greenhouses until the next week, so she spends that time in the library doing her homework. 

Arithmancy is another story. While Josette sits up in front of the classroom on one side, Hope sits far in the back on the other side, but the other girl is too distracting for Hope to concentrate. 

She is constantly moving, whether it be the end of a quill between her lips or her hair from one side to another. She runs her fingers through it almost all the time, and Hope dimly thinks that she’s doing it just to spite the pureblood. 

The other fact of the matter is that the muggleborn’s smart. This was once the one class Hope could continuously answer the teacher’s questions in and not feel like an insufferable know-it-all since her friends aren’t in it, but even that has now been ruined. 

“Can anyone tell me the answer to this problem?” Professor Vector asks Thursday afternoon, pointing to some type of quadratic formula scribbled messily on the board. 

Hope draws her hand up, and when Vector calls on her she checks her work before saying the answer out-loud. 

“X equals six?” 

“Wonderful, Miss Mikaelson,” Vector compliments, and Hope only nods back. “Five points to Slytherin.”

Hope almost rolls her eyes as she catches Josette raising her hand on the other side of the room. 

“Actually, Professor,” she says, but she’s making direct eye-contact with Hope. “Wouldn’t there be two answers? Six and negative six?” 

Professor Vector snaps her head at the board and tilts her chin, contemplating for a long moment before nodding in delight. 

“Absolutely, good attention to detail, Miss Saltzman!” she tells the girl merrily, but doesn’t notice the way Josette’s entire body is turned to send a mocking smile Hope’s way. “Ten points to Slytherin!” 

She doesn’t see the other girl again until the next day, during the period of time where Sprout has restricted her from attending Herbology and she is left to seek comfort in the library. 

She’s searching for a book on patronuses for Snape’s homework due Monday when she finds the muggleborn checking out the last copy of the book she had spent the previous ten minutes looking for. 

“Thank you, Madame Pince.” Josette smiles kindly as Madame Pince—the librarian—hands her back the book. Hope scowls in annoyance. 

“Of course, dear,” Madame Pince says easily, which worsens Hope’s mood. Madame Pince was not known to be nice to anyone. 

She watches behind a bookshelf as the girl finds a seat in the middle of the library and sets all her things down. She takes the patronus book out of her bag, but at the same time an envelope falls out. She bends down to pick it up, and not paying much attention, she sticks the envelope in the book, but leaves it on the table instead of opening it. Hope immediately takes the chance to summon it. 

“Accio book,” she whispers, and the book comes flying towards her. Josette—wrapped up in some essay or another—doesn’t notice and Hope doesn’t hesitate to leave at once. 

She exits the library with a sly smile on her face, shoving the book into her own bag. She takes a nap during the next hour, and sometime in the afternoon after she wakes up, she realizes she’s going to be late to Double Arithmancy. She comes through the door just as the bell rings, meeting eyes with Josette who’s right near the door. 

She can’t help the smirk that graces her lips, and Josette frowns slightly before looking back to her parchment. Professor Vector shakes her head at Hope but doesn’t say anything, and Hope finds her usual seat in the back. 

“Alright, class, today you will be working with your partners for a...competition...of sorts.” Vector walks around the classroom, handing out a single piece of parchment paper to every pair of desks. 

“The first two groups to solve these sets of equations correctly will win thirty points for their house...and no weekend homework,” she says, settling at her spot in the front of the classroom. The entire class erupts into excited chatter at the last part, as Professor Vector was known to give extensive homework over weekends. “You may now begin working with your elbow partner.” 

Her partner, William Jacques, is a quiet exchange student from France. They had never had a problem before, most likely due to the fact that they were both purebloods and came from wealth.

“I don’t know about you, Mikaelson,” William starts, his nose upturned in that snobbish way it usually is. “But I would much rather not have homework over the weekend.” 

“I agree,” she replies, and they get right to it. They finish most of the problems in the first half of the period, constantly double-checking each other’s work over the course of time they have allotted.Hope finds herself looking over to see how Josette and her partner are working together far more times than she would like to admit. 

“You’re distracted,” William comments, almost offhandedly, about an hour and a half in, just as they’re almost done. “You usually work quicker than this.” 

“You’ve done half as many problems as I have,” she deadpans, and he chuckles, marking something on his parchment paper with his quill. 

“I suppose so,” the boy relents, and they don’t speak again. 

“Ah, we have our first pair done,” Professor Vector calls from the front of the class a couple of minutes later, clapping slightly. Everyone in the room freezes their work to look up. Hope finds Josette and a Ravenclaw boy up in the front, smiling shyly next to Vector. She curses underneath her breath, and William beside her glances at her with a very curious expression. “As promised, thirty points to each Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Well done, the both of you! Everyone else, keep working!” 

They sit back down, but Hope doesn’t miss the gloating look in Josette’s eye as their gazes meet. She narrows her eyes and glares before turning back to her work. They have a single problem left, and within the next thirty seconds she completes it and has William check it. 

Together, they take their answers up to the front of the room. Hope feels pins and needles in her stomach as Professor Vector looks over their work. 

“It appears as though we have our second pair done!” she says finally, and very dramatically. William and Hope roll their eyes over her head, and the rest of the room begins to grumble. “Sixty points to Slytherin!” 

She gives everyone else the homework assignment, much to their chagrin, and Hope and William sit back down. 

She pauses, imperceptibly, as she settles in her chair, the movement of Josette turning around catching her eye. The muggleborn looks at her in such a way that Hope feels like she’s trying to rub it in, the fact that she got first place and Hope didn’t. Of course, she could be reading into nothing, but that doesn’t stop the sudden malicious feeling boiling in Hope’s blood. 

Not breaking eye-contact, she reaches over into her school bag and takes out the book she had previously stolen from the other girl. She waves it very deliberately, a smug smile crossing her face, before setting it back on the table. 

Josette narrows her eyes, her brows furrowing as her lips just barely part. Soon, her eyes widen, only so minutely that Hope can barely notice, and then she’s tugging her own book bag onto her lap and ravaging through it. 

Josette comes up empty-handed, and Hope stops watching her to lean back into her chair. She picks up the book languorously, pretending as though it’s the Daily Prophet as she skims from one page to another, not really reading but pretending to. She feels as though she’s won their little game, and way Josette’s nose is flared angrily almost makes it all the better. 

Vector dismisses the class early, and Hope knows that she can’t avoid a confrontation with the other girl as she’s quite literally blocking the exit. 

Her savior comes in the form of Professor Vector. 

“Miss Saltzman, if you could stay after class for a couple of minutes?” the woman inquires, and Josette nods politely, giving Hope one last glance before walking up to Vector’s desk. Their shoulders bump as Hope passes her, and time seems to slow as the pureblood painstakingly drags her eyes away. Then the moment is gone and Hope leaves the classroom, a sick feeling in her chest. 

Her last class—Charms—passes quickly enough. Professor Flitwick is teaching them healing charms, and Hope almost uses one on herself before forgetting about her condition. It would be so easy to take the pain away, of course, but not without consequences. She has an appointment with Pomfrey after school anyways, so she knows she won’t have to suffer long. 

Her check-up with Madame Pomfrey goes as scheduled, with the woman removing what’s left of her stitches and then performing a diagnostic charm to detect any remnants of poison. 

When she finds none, she removes her wand from her sleeve and waves it over Hope’s entire arm for several long moments, over and over again. The pureblood watches as the gashes—largely closed up by now—begin to pull over one another and heal. 

When Pomfrey’s done, her arm feels and looks normal. 

“Please come to me if you have any lasting symptoms of nausea or pain,” the matron reminds her before she leaves, and Hope nods. 

“Yeah, right,” she mutters underneath her breath, her feet carrying her swiftly passed the exit and right to the quidditch pitch. 

She had scheduled a last-minute practice on Friday before the official game Saturday morning, and now she was completely regretting it. It didn’t matter, however. She was the captain and she couldn’t cancel it just because she felt like it.

Hope takes her time undressing in the locker room, only because the practice wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes and she knew no one would come into the locker room until ten minutes before then. 

She neatly folds her clothes and places them in her locker, strapping on her quidditch gear and pads. The entire process takes five minutes, and she’s out of the locker room in ten. 

It’s raining when she gets outside, even though it hadn’t been a few moments ago. She barely thinks about it, only sparing an extra second to secure a pair of goggles around her eyes before taking off on her broom. 

She initially circles around the pitch slowly a couple of times, and then gradually increases her speed. It’s moments like these when she feels truly relaxed. Although the rain is seething into her clothes, soaking her quite thoroughly, she can’t find it in herself to care. Her magic is practically buzzing, and the broom beneath her feels steady despite the fact that she’s whizzing through the air at a speed most would grow nauseous at. 

Her sense of contentment comes to an end as she sees her teammates start to file out of the locker room. She flies down towards them, dismounting her broom without faltering a single step. 

It’s not dark outside, so she can see the unhappiness written across their faces clearly. 

“You know I love the rain, Mikaelson,” Ryan drags out, amusement alit in his eyes. “But this is a bit...much.” 

“Anyone who wants to leave, go ahead,” she raises her voice over the sound of the rain hitting the ground. “I just won’t put you in tomorrow’s game.” 

Maya laughs, much like she always does, and bumps her shoulder with Hope’s before starting on her warm-up laps. 

“Captain’s right.” Ethan joins her next, already mounting his broom. “Don’t be such a downer, Clarke. We need this practice anyways. What if it rains like this tomorrow? We need to be prepared.” 

The rest of the team follows soon after, and Hope has them doing sprints across the field for the next thirty minutes, trying to make sure they can control their speed and velocity if it should rain. Of course, they’ve practiced in the rain before, but never the day before the match. Usually, Hope elected not to schedule a practice directly before a game since she didn’t want to risk injuries or muscle fatigue. Yet, she has a bad feeling about tomorrow’s game that she just can’t shake off. 

They’re not an hour into the practice when Hope spots a figure coming down from the school grounds. She signals her team to continue training and begins to float down, hovering a couple of feet in the air as she strains her eyes to see through the fog of her goggles. 

She nearly sighs when she sees who it is. 

“This is a private practice, Saltzman,” she bites out, injecting venom into her words as she drops to the floor. The harsh sound of the pouring rain swallows much of the hostility. 

Josette stands across from her, perfectly dry, wand raised above her head with a rain-repelling charm. 

“Give me back my book,” the other girl spits out in lieu of a greeting, but the malevolence is not lost in the rain like Hope’s had been. 

“You came out in this weather for a book?” she asks, sneering slightly. “You must be more pathetic than I first presumed.” 

“Just give it back.” Josette steps forward, crossing her arms. Her spell falters slightly and the barest drop of water hits her arm. 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hope says, because she knows it’ll only infuriate her. 

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with it in Arithmancy,” the muggleborn declares, matter-of-fact. Hope shifts her weight on her left leg impatiently. “I know you have it.” 

Hope wants to ask her why it’s so important that she gives it up now, because it’s only a stupid book, but she decides to keep up the pretense of being confused, if only for her own amusement. 

“I can assure you, I don’t know what you mean.” Josette positively bristles at that, stepping close enough that Hope can see that her eyebrows are almost knitted together. 

“Then you won’t mind me asking Madame Pince’s help for a locator spell? I’m sure she’d just _hate_ to lose one of her precious books.” It’s a childish threat—that’s clear—but what’s also clear is that they’re no longer above immature taunts and arguments. It’s up to Hope now to decide to relent or to keep remaining clueless. Should she take the risk just to bother the other girl? Was Josette bluffing, or genuinely serious? 

“Hey, is everything alright?” Rose has just flown down from her usual spot at the posts, taking a stance protectively in front of Hope. She glances nervously at Josette. 

“Yes, I think so,” she mutters, even though Rose definitely can’t hear her. She clears her throat, raising her voice slightly. “Would you mind gathering the team and ending practice early for me? While I deal with this?” 

She gestures to Josette with the hand holding her broom, and Rose nods before sparing one last anxious look at the both of them—Merlin, did she think they would start another duel?—and then mounting her own broom.

Hope turns around to watch Rose fly off and call the team together, but when she turns back Josette Saltzman has disappeared. 

She hurries back into the locker room, the rain feeling cold and bitter where it hadn’t been before. When she reaches for her school bag to leave, the book sits heavily within its contents, suddenly so consuming and cloying that she could not find it in her mind to stop thinking about it. 


	11. Chapter 11

Hope doesn’t catch another glimpse of Josette for the rest of the night, and in the morning, she wakes up bright and early. 

Her team wears their quidditch uniforms to breakfast, and she forces them all to sit together to eat. Perhaps, that wasn’t the best plan. 

“—No, Park, the deal was if I score at least six goals, you have to drink one of Slughorn’s expired potions.” 

“I was fucking drunk when we made that deal, Clarke,” Penelope grumbles around a swig of pumpkin juice. 

“Hey, what did I say about carbs before a game?” Hope interrupts, eyeing Penelope’s glass. “Water, only.” 

“You’re such a hypocrite, Mikaelson,” Jo Victoire speaks up, extending her arms out to put her hair into a ponytail. “We all saw you eating three slices of chocolate cake last night after practice.” 

“Whatever,” Hope sharply cuts her off before she can say more. The rain _had_ always made her hungry. “I want you all in the locker room by eight.” 

She storms away, her quidditch robes billowing behind her, leaving her team to finish their breakfast in seconds and quickly run after her. 

By eight, everyone has formed in a circle around Hope, some leaning against various lockers, some sitting on benches. 

“Okay, we already know Madame Pooch is biased against Slytherin, so if anyone acts out, she won’t hesitate to penalize us instantly,’” Hope starts, looking around to her friends, who are all actively paying attention. 

And it’s true—Slytherin has never been the Quidditch referee’s favorite house. She has never openly said anything against them, but the inclination towards every other house is there. And unfortunately, she’s been chosenas the judge for this first game, despite the plethora of referees Hogwarts has at their disposal. 

“However, that does not mean we can’t be aggressive. We just have to be more clever about what we can and can’t get away with,” Hope smirks, and the expression is mirrored in the rest of the team’s lips. The distant sound of cheering greets Hope’s ears from the stands, and she realizes that they need to get a move on things. 

“Now, I could give you all a big, inspirational speech on how important it is that we win,” the pureblood drawls, “but the fact is—this is Hufflepuff we’re talking about. If we lose, you’re all dead to me. Got it?” 

Everyone nods, half the team swallowing nervously and the other half laughing. They cycle out of the locker room one by one after each other, with Hope coming out last. 

She rubs her glove-clad hands together, feeling nervous, but if anyone asked her she would never admit it. It’s always been like this, right before every match she’ll feel a painful cramping in her stomach as she works herself into an anxious wreck. She never gives any hints that she’s actually on edge, but the nerves remain in her stomach like small butterflies all the same. 

As seeker, she has one of the hardest jobs on the pitch, but her eyes are sharp and she’s always managed to catch the snitch every game she’s played so far. 

Once again, she hears the rumble of feet and shouting from the bleachers. The Hufflepuff team has just been introduced by Professor McGonagall, and Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff have all shown up to support them. It’s a full house—the stands are absolutely packed—and Hope quickly sees that the Slytherins will only have their own house to encourage them today. 

It’s raining, too. Not as hard as it had been last night, but the cold still bites into Hope’s skin when the wind breezes over. She briefly wonders if Josette has come to watch the match, and she looks around but doesn’t find her sitting on Slytherin’s side of the bleachers. 

She mounts her broom, hovering several feet over the ground as Professor McGonagall begins to introduce her own team. Her teammates mount their brooms as well, and they circle around the pitch several times in practiced formation. 

Just as she drops down to huddle with her group, she catches Josette sitting on Hufflepuff’s side with her sister and friends. Hope can just barely make out a Gryffindor scarf around the muggleborn’s neck. What’s worse, maybe, is that she’s waving around a Hufflepuff flag. Hope’s fingers tighten around the wood of her broom. 

She takes to the sky again after a short talk with her teammates, and they gather in the middle of the pitch with Hufflepuff’s players.

“I want a nice, clean game, do you hear me?” Madame Hooch says, yellow eyes glinting in the sunlight, and Hope rolls her eyes. Hooch bends down to open the quidditch box, releasing the bludgers and the snitch. 

The snitch whizzes around the pitch before disappearing, but Hope’s eyes continue to trace it. 

Hooch throws up the quaffle, and automatically the Slytherin chasers loop in an unusual sequence, immediately distracting Hufflepuff and taking first possession. Hope cheers internally—they had spent almost an hour working on that. 

The rest of the game does not work out so easily. Thirty minutes into the match, they’ve only scored six goals to Hufflepuff’s seven.   


Madame Hooch has awarded Hufflepuff three penalties so far, declaring unjust fouls on Slytherin’s part. As a result, Hufflepuff gets the chance to score against them three times without any obstacles. Rose only saves a single throw out of the three.    
  


To add on, Hope hasn’t been able to catch a single break or even glance in the direction of the snitch, as Hufflepuff’s beaters have sent every single bludger her way. They’re barely giving her room to move, and although they’re mainly concentrating on her, the rest of her team is still performing terribly. They’re losing and Hope’s positively fuming. She waves her hands and calls a time-out. 

Alyssa Chang—sixth year Ravenclaw and the announcer and commentator for the game, and a Ravenclaw—laughs into the magical microphone. 

“_And Slytherin Captain Hope Mikaelson calls a time-out_,” she drones lazily. “_Good to see those slimy snakes_—“

McGonagall sends her a look. 

“_—I mean, Slytherins—taken down a peg or two. They must really _suck_ to request a break in a fast-paced game such as this one, playing _Hufflepuff_ no less_.” 

Somehow, Penelope had ended up with the bludger after Hope had called the time-out, and at Alyssa’s words she spins on her heel and raises her bat. Hope grabs the bat and pulls it out of her grip just before she swings to hit the other girl with the ball. 

“Do you want us to have to forfeit?” she growls through clenched teeth, throwing the bat to the ground. “Hooch is already on our heads enough as it is.” 

Penelope sighs and shrugs.

“That would be more dignified than this,” she retorts. The rest of the group fly down quickly and they all huddle together. 

“Does someone want to tell me why the hell we’re losing?” Hope bites out, looking pointedly at each player. Some mumble, but no one really says anything at all. 

“No, really. I want to hear it,” she reiterates, and Penelope voices her opinion. 

“It’s because _some_ people can’t do their jobs,” she says, glancing at Rose next to her. Rose makes a furious sound at the back of her throat. 

“I _know_ you’re not talking about me, Park,” she says. “I’ve saved five goals.” 

“And let seven in!” Penelope remarks, and Ethan swiftly stands between them. 

“That’s funny of you to say, P,” he cuts in. “You call yourself a beater, yet you haven’t hit a single player.” 

“_Enough_!” Hope yells, and they all become silent. The sound of rain is the only thing that stands between them. “If you haven’t already noticed, Hufflepuff hasn’t given me an inch edgewise. Every bludger has been aimed at me and me _alone_. I need you guys to take advantage.”

She turns to her chasers. “Clarke, Machado, Victoire, let’s spread the pitch. Clarke and Victoire can take left and right, I want Ethan in the middle. If a player gets close to you, pass the ball off quickly, but be smart with it. For every interception, we’re going to do a _hundred_ push-ups next practice. Maya and Pen, try to keep the pressure off of me, okay? I want you targeting the beaters now, not their chasers. I might be able to catch the snitch and end this quickly. Everyone understand?” 

They all nod rapidly, mounting their brooms once more, a new intensity leaking into their eyes. 

“_It looks like Mikaelson is ending their little time-out. That’s a minute of my life I’ll never get back..._” Alyssa comments from the announcer’s post. 

Hope ignores her and flies well above the action of the pitch, actively looking around to catch sight of the snitch. Every now and then she’ll duck or float over another bludger, but she remains circling the arena, trying to catch any glimpse of fluttering gold. 

“_Ethan Machado scores. That gives Machado his second goal, tying Slytherin and Hufflepuff 70-70_.” The amplified voice of Alyssa Chang idles on in the background, and Hope knows it’s important that she doesn’t get distracted. 

She barely catches the yellow glimmer in her peripheral vision. She doesn’t immediately shoot towards it, understanding that Hufflepuff’s own seeker has been watching her the entire game. She knows he’s too lazy to search for the snitch himself, and will only use her to grab it when she sees it. 

She pretends she’s still looking for it, nonchalantly leaning towards the tiny flicker she had seen before. When she thinks she’s close enough, she grabs her broom and launches forward. 

It’s directly in front of her, she can see it now, perfect and golden and waiting for her to hold it in the palm of her hand. The Hufflepuff seeker is hot on her heels, but the model of his broom is nowhere near the extravagance and value of hers. Besides that, he could never be as fast as her. 

“_It appears that Mikaelson has seen the snitch, and Seeker Justin Cragley is just behind her. At this point, I think I speak for all of us when I say I don’t care who catches it, as long as someone does so this miserable excuse for a game can end..._” 

Hope reaches out, narrowly avoiding crashing into a group of students below her as she points her broom to the side. Penelope soon comes into her vision, holding up her bat, mouthing a word Hope can’t focus completely on. 

She realizes it a second later—“_Duck_”—as a bludger whizzes by her and she lowers her head, laughing when she turns around and finds that the ball has hit Justin directly in the forehead. He falls away from his broom and sinks to the ground. 

“_Ouch_,” Alyssa speaks into the microphone with no compassion or sympathy whatsoever. 

The snitch is so close now. 

With one, final strong pull of her broom, Hope hurls forward, her fingers wrapping around the snitch’s wings before she pulls it to her body, collecting the bell-like ball into her hand. 

“_Well, Slytherin caught the snitch, I guess. That brings the score to 220-70. Bye_.” The microphone screeches horrendously as Alyssa drops it carelessly, already beginning to head back to the castle. Hope wonders why she even took the position of announcer in the first place. 

A fourth of the stadium erupts into cheers, the other three quarters into loud boos, but Hope hears none of it. She’s immediately tackled to the ground by her teammates, and they high-five and laugh in triumphant delight for minutes on end. Soon after, she feels something twitch beneath her palm. 

She looks down to the find that the snitch has stayed fluttering in her hand, and she releases it hesitantly. It lingers in front of her, before pulling away slowly—almost as if asking her to follow—to a part of the student section of the bleachers. She chases the golden sparkle with her eye, a weird feeling inhabiting her stomach as the snitch peculiarly wanders over to none other than Josette Saltzman. 

The sentient ball loiters in front of the muggleborn for a long moment until Josette finally notices, reaching out gently to skim her fingers along the soft metal. The wings collapse into the ball, and it stays there—now inanimate—in the palm of her hand. 

The girl suddenly looks up, and despite the distance between them, the pureblood could swear in that moment that she was looking at Hope. 

A shiver runs down her spine—unrelated to the rain—and her blood freezes in her body. She continues to simply stand still, watching as Josette possibly watches back, the tiny snitch almost heavy between them. Seconds later, the rain appears to settle more calmly, only drizzling. It sprinkles itself against Hope’s face and she shrugs off her goggles and wipes at her eyes to see Josette more clearly. 

Someone slaps a hand on her shoulder and the moment is ruined. 

“Hey, Mikealson. We’re all gonna get changed and head to The Three Broomsticks to celebrate. You coming?” 


	12. Chapter 12

After the game, the team agrees to meet up in the common room once they’ve all showered and changed into warmer clothes. The rain outside has only gotten worse over the past hour, brutally pounding into the ground outside. Slipping on her coat and gloves, Hope jogs down the stairs to meet her friends. 

“Damn, Mikaelson,” Maya whistles. “You’ve been in the shower for _hours_. What took so long?” 

Hope doesn’t hesitate, narrowing her eyes at the blatant exaggeration. “Sorry. It took a while to scrub away the embarrassment you all put me through last match.” 

Maya smiles, opening her mouth to retort. 

“Your useless banter can wait,” Ethan cuts in quickly. “Honeydukes closes early today, we should get going.” 

The boy has dearly loved the sweetshop ever since third year, and Hope can’t resist the smile that stretches her lips. Someone opens the common room door and a sudden breeze blows in, allowing Hope to notice that her hair is still completely wet from her shower. She shivers, reaching for her wand to dry her hair. 

She doesn’t find it in her pocket. 

“Crap,” Hope curses. She didn’t really feel like going back to her dorm room. “I think I left my wand in my bag upstairs. I’ll be right back.” 

She takes the steps two at a time when she catches Ethan’s pout, reaching her dorm room in record time. She automatically walks toward her nightstand, where her book bag lies on top of it. 

She searches through it quickly, her fingers finding nothing. Frustrated, she spills out the bag’s contents all over her bed. She finds her wand quite faster that way, and waves it over her head. Her hair dries instantly, and she almost turns her back before something catches her eye. 

It’s a pale envelope, sealed by a red, circular wax stamp. The envelope itself is stuck between the book she had stolen from Josette, and—curiosity reeling—she pulls the envelope out from within the book. 

The envelope has already been opened, she can tell. There’s a perfect slit in the side, and Hope wonders why it was opened in such a weird way. She turns the envelope over to find the school’s address and an inscription: 

** _ My Dearest Josie _ **

It’s not the first time she’s heard the nickname, but her heart thuds deeply in her chest at the words anyways. She takes a harsh breath, her fingers twitching where they meet the envelope. When she finally musters the courage to open it, she finds a piece of parchment paper inside—obviously a letter. 

She stops herself shortly, deciding not to open it. She shoves the letter to her bed, wondering if that’s why Josette had wanted the book so badly. Had she noticed the letter had been missing? Had she accidentally placed it in the book and had consequentially forgotten about it? 

And should Hope dare open it if so? The Slytherin side of her was screaming to do it, but a deeper part still was shaking its head in her mind. If she read it, she could potentially blackmail the other girl with the contents of the letter. 

Yet, for once in her life, doing something so malicious did not make Hope excited. There was a large part of her that did not want to ever touch the letter again, but she knew that it could be something important to use against the other girl. The relationship she had with Josette was very shaky, and this would be the perfect way to get one over her. 

But she could not bring herself to do it. Hope grabs the letter quickly and shoves it back into her bag with the book, wondering why she was even thinking about being so nosy in the first place. 

No, she decides. She would not read it. But, if things ever came to it, she would not hesitate to utilize it to her advantage. And if anything, she could just make Josette think she read it. Yes, she would do that. 

She takes her bag and jogs down the stairs for the second time in the last five minutes, her wand lying on her bed completely forgotten. 

Hogsmeade is as beautiful as Hope remembers despite the rain. The pebbled-pathways are slick but steady beneath her feet, complimenting the darkness of the stores littering the area. It’s also crowded, particularly in the clothing shops. 

It seems as though much of Hogwarts has followed Dumbledore’s orders to purchase Muggle clothes for the following Friday. Hope knows that there’s no way in hell she’s going to do that, but something inside her yearns to. 

As planned, they stop at Honeydukes’ and Ethan and Maya buy at least twenty pounds of sugar quills and pumpkin pasties. Hope buys several chocolate frogs, stuffing them in her bag before her friends can see that she has an obvious sweet tooth. 

After, the group eats lunch at a small inn, where they remain for much of the day, just trying to enjoy themselves away from school. For dessert, Hope enjoys a treacle tart with a couple of chocolate frogs on the side from her bag. 

The group then splits off to go their separate ways. Penelope, Ethan, and Maya head towards the quidditch stores, Jo and Ryan to the magical item stalls, while Rose and Hope head for Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. 

There’s no one in the store when the pair walk in, and the shopkeep greets them quietly from the back of the room. Hope lets Rose greet the guy back, already looking around for the ink she needs. 

She purchases a new, shiny black inkwell and two entire refill packs, only because she had spilled most of her own during various accidents along the week due to being distracted by that damn muggleborn, Josette. 

She purchases her items and meets Rose back up at the front, the other girl excitedly showing her what she bought. 

“Look, it’s _pink_!” Rose nearly squeals, and Hope watches as her new quill changes into different shades of pink, creating an ombré illuminance. Hope deeply ponders how the girl got sorted into Slytherin. 

“I can see that,” she laughs. 

“And guess what?” Hope thinks the girl’s going to fall over in joy. “It’s spelled to transfigure any ink it touches into pink, too!” 

“Really?” The pureblood decides to at least act interested. “Snape’s going to just _love_ you.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Rose says, her laughter stopping short. “Is that Gladrags?” 

Hope snaps her eyes up to what Rose is talking about—Gladrags Witch and Wizardwear. She finds a rambunctious shop, students bustling in and out. She can actually hear the obnoxious sounds from where they stand several meters across from it. 

“I guess so,” she replies quietly. She tilts her head, looking at the weird clothes in the store window. She doesn’t recognize them immediately, but thinks that maybe they’re muggle clothes. “I can’t believe people are actually listening to Dumbledore’s muggle rubbish.” 

“Yeah,” Rose agrees, just as quietly. “Do you reckon Dumbledore was serious? When he threatened detention if we don’t wear muggle clothes?” 

“I try not to understand the old bat.” Hope smiles, only barely, and Rose meets her with her own. “But I wouldn’t put it passed him.” 

“Maybe...” Rose takes a deep breath, but Hope thinks she wasn’t supposed to hear it. “Maybe we should buy some then? Muggle clothes, I mean. Just...you know...in case. My father would kill me if I got detention.” 

_ My father would kill me if he heard that I was wearing muggle clothes.  _

Hope thinks about it for a long moment. On one hand, if the wrinkled man is serious about detention, she certainly doesn’t want to add anymore to her two weeks. On the other hand, if anyone caught her wearing muggle clothes she might die on the spot from embarrassment. Yet, a part of her is very, very curious as to what muggle clothes look like. 

“Alright,” she says, nodding her head even though she’s sure Penelope would hex them both if she was privy to this conversation. “Do you mind if we wait for the crowd to die down first?” 

Rose purses her lips and then they make the small journey to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. Hope turns her nose up at the frilly and tacky decorations, but can’t help inhaling at the wonderful smell of food and drinks. 

Many of the inhabitants in the small room are holding hands, possibly on dates. The shop was well-known for the couples that visited it, and every couple of minutes Hope catches sight of a pair kissing. 

Hope orders for the both of them, a strawberry smoothie with whipped cream for Rose and hot chocolate for herself. The shop is so busy that their drinks take ten minutes to prepare. 

“I think Pen mentioned meeting at the Three Broomsticks at seven,” Rose says when Hope finally sits down with their drinks. Hope checks her watch and finds it’s nearly six o’clock. 

“We still have time.” Hope’s eyes linger on one particularly intimate couple in the far, dark corner. She recognizes Sebastian immediately, some blonde sitting across from him, intensely making out over the table. “Some people just don’t have any sense of public decency at all.” 

If Hope had bothered to pay attention, she would have noticed he was kissing none other than Elizabeth Saltzman. 

Rose turns around and cranes her head to glance back, before chuckling shortly. 

“Someone sounds _jealous_.” She smirks, patting Hope’s hand with her own in false sympathy. “Not getting enough action, Mikaelson?” 

Hope briefly glares at her before quickly changing the subject. 

“Oh, looks like Gladrags is empty now,” she distracts, pulling out her chair suddenly and cringing when it screeches hard against the rainbow tile. Rose shakes her head with laughter and then they leave the shop together. 

Gladrags Witch and Wizardwear has only a few people in it when they walk inside, which relieves Hope. She knows she shouldn’t even be seen in a place selling muggle clothes. 

She reads the first sign her eyes settle on. 

“What is a ‘denim jeans’?” she asks Rose, and the girl only shrugs her shoulders. She watches as Rose wanders around the shop, looking but not touching. Finally, she picks up a small rainbow piece of fabric. 

“The tag says this is a ‘crop top,’” she murmurs, very curious. Hope finds herself leaning in to take a look. 

“What, like a shirt?” Hope asks. 

“I guess.” She puts the shirt down. “It’s smaller than a pair of my knickers, though. Do muggles really wear that?” 

“I hear that they’re much less conservative than we are,” Hope tells her before she can stop herself. Rose raises a lone eyebrow at her knowledge of muggles. Hope rushes to clarify. “It’s just something I heard, I mean.” 

They continue to look around the store, and Hope finds herself more puzzled as time passes by. There’s a section of sweaters called ‘hoodies,’ and in the instant Hope touches them when Rose isn’t looking, she feels softness and warmth beneath her fingertips. She thinks the fabric looks quite comfortable, and is momentarily shocked that a muggle produced such a durable item. 

They’re back in the jeans section when a voice startles the both of them. 

“‘Ello, there! Would you like to try anything on?” The man must be the shopkeep, wearing what appears to be a dark turtleneck and beige trousers. 

“Don’t you have to take our measurements first—“ Hope starts, but Rose cuts her off. 

“Yes!” she affirms, and Hope thinks the girl didn’t completely understand his question. The man notices their bare arms and grabs a couple of shirts, sweaters, and pants on the way to a changing closet. 

He practically throws them into their own tiny room, and Hope grunts before examining what he gave them to try on. Rose locks the door. 

“Small, medium, and large,” Hope reads off the tags, growing irritated at the few size variations. “That’s just...barbaric.” 

She’s much more used to getting her measurements taken and having her robes fitted perfectly for her.

Hope tosses the clothes to the corner of the room on top of a small table, turning around to find that Rose has already taken her pants off. 

“You’re actually trying stuff on?” She raises her eyebrows, trying to inflect frustration and vexation into her voice. She fails miserably. 

“I—“ Rose searches for something to say. Hope thinks that the both of them have been awful at pretending today. “Might as well, right?” 

Hope plops herself down on the single chair in the room, watching as Rose fits a pair of ripped skinny jeans over her legs. 

“How do I look?” she asks, too earnestly. and Hope can’t let her down even though she’s seething inside. Rose is effortlessly being tolerant to muggle items—so openly—that Hope wonders why she has to—so blatantly—hide and pretend. Is Rose like this with the rest of their friends? Or does she know she can only get away with this with Hope? 

“Good, actually,” Hope says, her voice hoarse. Rose smiles like sunshine, before shifting through the pile of clothes in the corner and throwing a piece at Hope. 

“Here, I saw you eyeing this in the store,” she says. Hope inspects the object in her hand to recognize the hoodie she had been looking at earlier. She puts it back down into her lap in defiance. Rose glares her until she finally relents. 

“Fine.” She tugs off her own coat and sweater, because she’s only curious to see if it’s as comfortable as it looks. “Not a word of this to anyone, okay, Nicot?” 

With great pain, Rose tries to appear serious, before breaking out into small giggles just as Hope fits her arms through the hoodie. She pulls it over her stomach and looks at herself in the mirror. 

“You look so cute!” Rose immediately compliments. Hope has to admit that the jacket does look good on her, and feels quite nice, too. “Oh, what’s this?” 

Rose gestures to the two strings coming out of Hope’s jacket, approaching her in curiosity. She examines the strings, drawing the hood over Hope’s head.

She then promptly pulls on the strings attached to it.

Hope’s vision immediately obscures and she loses the ability to breathe as her hood tightens around her face, her hands snapping up to loosen the hood bunching up around her airway. 

After a long moment of panic, she manages to loosen the strings and return the hood to its original size. She immediately meets Rose’s widened eyes. The girl tries to apologize only to be interrupted. 

“You tried to kill me!” Hope accuses, but doesn’t take the jacket off. 

“I didn’t know that would happen!” Rose screams back, and the two argue back and forth. They then finally dissolve in laughter after fully realizing the situation. 

“Muggles are bloody suicidal, they are,” Rose comments lastly, reaching for the zipper and button on her pants. It seems as though taking off the jeans is much harder than putting them on because the girl struggles for a long minute. Hope shrugs off the hoodie carefully, putting back on her coat and sweater. 

“Merlin, it’s nearly seven, already!” Rose curses when she checks the time, reaching for her bag. They exit the changing room and Hope ignores the way Rose chats with the man they had seen earlier. She pretends she never sees the girl pay for the jeans she had tried on earlier plus some other pieces. Hope hides the way she wants to buy the hoodie she had tried on _herself_, because the Hope Mikaelson everyone knows would never pay a single knut for anything muggle. 

Hope doesn’t care that they’re late for meeting their friends, and merely walks toward the Three Broomsticks in the rain while Rose nearly jogs in front of her. The girl pulls on her hand, trying to rush her, and they both appear in the entrance panting and soaked through. 

They find their friends in the very back of the pub, and they all cheer when they notice Rose and Hope. Hope notices that some of them are already half-drunk—particularly Ryan, Maya, and Penelope—and she eyes the bottle of fire whiskey Penelope is trying to hide in her coat. Rose doesn’t miss it either. 

“Madam Rosmerta let you buy that?” she asks, and Penelope only laughs. 

“Of course not. Clarke smuggled it out of the school,” she explains, eyes glinting. Ryan nods next to her, his own eyes heavy-lidded. 

“Hope-y!” Ethan calls, and she notices him in the far corner of the table they’re all seated at. Her lips pull in disgust at the nickname. “Get us drinks, will you?” 

“Get off your ass and do it yourself, Machado,” she says, placing her bag on the table. Ethan only pouts. 

“Please,” he whines, over and over again, and she gives in after a hot minute. 

“I’ll follow you in a sec,” Rose tells her, and then sits down next to Ethan, hugging him in greeting. Hope knows that she won’t see her for a while, as she’s come to realize over the past couple of days that Rose and Ethan are terribly infatuated with each other. 

She mutters underneath her breath the entire way to the bar, severely put-our that she had to get the drinks. She raises her fingers and requests six butterbeers when Rosmerta catches her eye. 

Rosmerta churns them out quickly, already setting one down next to Hope the instant she sits on a stool. Hope raises the glass to her lips immediately, basking in the sweet buzz she gets. 

Someone taps her on the shoulder. 

“Uh, hi, Hope!” She resist the urge to turn back around when she finds Landon Kirby standing nervously, Rafael Waithe just behind him. She does not have the energy for this. 

“I-I was wondering if you wanted—wanted to maybe go out with me tomorrow? We could just hang out, or like—“ Hope wonders how the Hufflepuff didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor with his brazen stupidity. 

“No,” she cuts him off, turning back, not caring for the way Landon visibly splutters. He’s been quietly watching her for the past couple of years, sometimes even getting the courage to approach her. Sure, the boy’s at least a half-blood, but he’d still be a disappointment to her family if she allowed herself to be courted by him. 

She feels more than sees Landon and his friend retreat, turning her attention back to her butterbeer, which is not there.  


She slowly raises her eyes, settling on a glare as she findsJosette Saltzman sitting in the stool next to her drinking _her_ butterbeer. She’s wearing a black coat and grey beanie, and Hope’s eyes stray onto her wet hair that’s nearly sparkling with rain droplets. 

“That’s mine,” she bites out. 

Josette only raises the glass to her lips and takes another sip uncaringly, directly in front of her. Hope ignores the way the bubbly liquid wets the girl’s lips quite attractively. 

“I guess we’re even then,” the muggleborn says finally, and Hope opens her mouth but pauses when she notices Madame Rosmerta making her rounds towards them. Josette smiles sweetly as she approaches. 

“Here’s your gillywaters and cherry sodas, Honey, enjoy!” She places down five glasses, and Josette thanks her, reaching for a cherry soda. She sips experimentally, scrunching up her nose, before grabbing Hope’s butterbeer again as if she’s decided she likes it better. Hope waits for Madame Rosmerta to pass before resuming.

“Listen here, Saltzman,” she says impatiently, holding back talking until Josette’s eyes snap up to hers. In the dim lighting, it doesn’t satisfy her nearly enough, and she leans forward slightly. She can’t look away from Josette’s brown irises. “We will never be on the same level.” 

Josette rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, get over yourself,” she tells her, her finger rimming the glass. Hope’s eyes trace the motion and her jaw clenches painfully. “I was referring to the book you stole from me.” 

Hope takes a second to tighten her fists underneath the table. She closes her eyes, attempting to control herself, before her hands flatten as she relaxes. 

“Whatever’s in that book must be real important to you,” Hope begins, very carefully, her fingers now lightly drumming against the table. She can’t allow Josette to make her feel like this. Like she’s practically shaking from anger. This is the perfect time to use the letter against her. “Huh, _my dearest Josie_?” 

She sees the exact moment Josette gets the inflection in her tone. 

She sees the exact moment Josette thinks Hope’s read the letter. 

Recognition flickers in the muggleborn’s eyes. She gets up off her stool like lightning, reaching for the wand up her sleeve. Hope stands up just as quickly, meeting her between the stools. If she leaned forward at all they’d be practically touching. 

“You don’t get to call me that,” Josette spits out, venom curling her lips. 

“I’ll call you whatever I want,” Hope hisses, a numb sneer pulling at her own mouth. She feels something digging into her abdomen, and glances down to see Josette’s wand poking her roughly. She realizes that she forgot her wand in her room when she doesn’t feel it in her pocket. She’s so fucked. 

“I knew you were truly despicable, Mikaelson, but I never thought you’d stoop so low.” 

She’s clearly alluding to Hope reading whatever was is in the letter, and Hope’s eyes darken slightly when she notices Josette’s hold on her wand is shaking. She’s either seriously pissed off, or seriously upset. Hope hadn’t thought that it would affect her so much. What was in that damn letter? 

Josette’s other hand has somehow wound its way into Hope’s coat. There, it clenches the fabric in its grasp almost threateningly, and Hope smothers the noise itching at the back of her throat. 

If Hope had achieved what she wanted to—making the other girl mad—why didn’t she feel good about it? 

“C’mon, Jo, it’s not worth it.” Josette’s friend Anna Lowly has suddenly appeared behind her shoulder. Although she’s trying to pull Josette away before a fight can break out, she also pulls out her wand. 

_Great_, Hope thinks. _Now it’s two versus one. _

Not for long, however, because Hope feels a familiar presence behind her own shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Rose says, a fake note of confusion in her voice. She twirls her wand in her hair, and Hope smirks at the fact that she has such a person watching her back. “Is there a problem?” 

The students in the pub remains noisy around them, no one noticing anything wrong. Josette hesitates, her eyes flitting around the room like she can’t decide what she wants to do. She seems to make a decision seconds later. 

“No,” she smiles like ice, and Hope shivers despite the fact that she’s been inside for ten minutes. “Of course not.” 

Josette and her friend grab their many drinks and leave, and Hope says nothing when Josette grabs her butterbeer and chugs it down at her. 

Hope and Rose grab the drinks for their friends as well, and when Hope finally sits down, Rose takes that moment to pester her. 

“What was that about?” 

Hope shakes her head, a laugh coming out of her like glass. 

“A book.”

Rose looks at her peculiarly, and Hope doesn’t explain. 


	13. Chapter 13

Hope Mikaelson, for the life of her, cannot stop thinking about that damn letter. 

It’s now Sunday night, and still thoughts of the contents of the letter and Josette’s reaction are tormenting her every waking moment. She can’t even seem to escape the problem in her dreams, where she had a nightmare that the letter was instead a Howler and Josette would look at her with those sad, disappointed eyes over and over again.

She has woken up every hour during the night, yet her terrible dream seems to resume the second she falls back to sleep, and she is forced to relive the awful moment all over again. 

The pureblood had spent the rest of her weekend doing homework and munching on chocolate frogs, and she is now sitting restlessly on her bed, Josette’s book numb in her fidgeting hands. 

She stands up abruptly, as if coming to a sudden conclusion. 

“Where are you going?” Maya yells after her, tucked neatly beneath her sheets, her hair sprawled across her pillow like a princess. 

Hope doesn’t turn around.

“Astronomy Tower. If I’m not back in an hour someone Avada Kedavra’d me,” she says offhandedly, uncaring, and she shuts the door quietly behind her, cutting off Maya’s small giggles. 

Last year, Hope had made a habit of going to the Astronomy Tower whenever her thoughts had gotten too much. She hadn’t gone once so far this year, but now seems like a perfect time to stare at the stars and think peacefully alone. 

Hope crosses the corridors to the tower rather quickly, soundlessly climbing the steps until she reaches the top. She pauses when she hears two voices. 

“I hate her—I hate her...” 

Hope’s heart jolts directly into her throat, her blood thickening into ice. She freezes on the spot. 

“Josie, _please_! What happened? You’ve been upset since last night, I can tell. Do you want me to go get your sister?” 

It’s Josette and her friend, that one Ravenclaw that had followed her around since the girl got here. Josette is sobbing, and her friend is almost shaking her for a response. Hope feels the instant need to leave, but can’t get her legs to move at the same time. 

“No, Anna, no, she won’t understand...” Josette pleads quietly, whimpers spilling out of her lips freely. Hope knows she has to go right now. She has to leave. She can’t. 

“Is it about the letter? I told you your parents didn’t mean it—“ Anna tries. 

“But they did! And they’re going to be so much more disappointed in me when—“ Josette stutters, like she can’t quite bring herself to say it. “When they find out—w-when they find o-out...God, I hate her. I hate her so much...” 

“Hate who, Josie?” 

Josette looks up suddenly. Hope doesn’t think she meant to say that. She ducks slightly when she realizes the muggleborn might be able to see her. 

“Hate who?” Anna repeats, and Hope watches in slow-motion as the other girl answers. She can’t believe her ears. 

“Mikaelson,” Josette tells her, and Hope can’t completely swallow right passed the lump in her throat. Tears build up unbidden in her eyes. Why had she thought this was a good idea in the first place? Does Josette actually hate her? But, of course she does. Is it really such a surprise to hear it out loud? “S-she read the letter. And now she’s going to tell everyone, and my parents are going to be so angry with me.” 

“She might not, Jo,” Anna attempts to soothe her. “And I reckon your parents should be angry with themselves for saying such horrible things to you. If it gets out, _they_ ought to be embarrassed, not you.” 

“No,” Josette tells her, her head dropping as she continues to cry quietly. A frown splits Hope’s lips, but if one were to ask she would call it a sneer. Her chest hurts, and she thinks maybe it’s because her heart has stopped beating. Why does she feel so bad for a _mudblood_? The answer is too easy. “No, my parents are right; I humiliated our family. Have you ever heard of a muggleborn in Slytherin? No wonder they’re mad...they think that, that I’m..._evil_.” 

A sharp sob escapes her throat, and Anna rubs calming circles into her back. Hope manages to take a step back, but her body doesn’t let her do much else. Every time she breathes, she feels flames ignite in her throat. She gets the sudden urge to grab her family ring from her finger and throw it off the tower. Fuck  being a Mikaelson. She never knew it could feel this awful. 

Yet, she can blame her lineage all she wants, but this is all her if she truly thinks about it. She was the one that had been mean to the girl, after all. 

“You’re not, though! We’ve only just met days ago, but you’re the kindest person I know!” Anna reassures the witch, to no avail. Josette ignores her. 

“You know, I begged the Sorting hat not to put me in Slytherin. Literally anywhere else, I asked,” Josette says, humorlessly. “And my parents—they wouldn’t even buy me a spare robe, nevermind a scarf or tie. My dad says he’s working on talking to my mom about it, but I know he’s just pretending.”

Hope decides that she’s heard enough.

With a heavy heart and lungs like fire, Hope retreats down the staircase with small footsteps. The sound of Josette crying follows her all the way down, and she can still imagine it as she settles back into bed. 

She doesn’t sleep much the entire night, her eyes open wide to the ceiling, her ears attuned to tears that have long since stopped. Foolishly, she had thought hearing the contents of the letter would make her feel better. Now she had even more questions. Her dreams once again plague her, except for this time memories of the summer are added into the mix. 

Hope wakes with bloodshot eyes, feeling completely exhausted. 

Her dormmates wake up as energized as ever, which only serves to irritate Hope more. She takes a brisk shower and comes into the great hall late. She feels dizzy from guilt, and her stomach acid rises in her throat every other step. She thinks she might throw up. Her book bag weighs heavily on her shoulders, and she nearly drops it as someone bumps into her. She finds a mess of black curls and a first year.

“Oh, sorry, Hope!” Pedro says, already turning away to sprint off and mess around with his friends. An idea sparks in her head and she grabs him by his elbow and pulls him back. 

“Not so fast,” she tells him. He pouts. “I want you to do something for me. Do you know who Josette Saltzman is?” 

She asks it very silently, bending down so he can hear it correctly. Pedro pauses in contemplation. 

“I think so,” he says, blinking slowly. “The _pretty_ one?” 

Hope raises her eyebrows, and Pedro blushes before a grin reaches his lips like he’s about to say something smart. “Sorry, I mean, she’s the one who handed you your ass in the duel, right?” 

Hope grumbles, deciding that she doesn’t have a lot of time before classes start and she needs to get to her point. She can explain to him what really happened later and maybe correct him on his profanity. He _is_ a first year, after all. 

“That’s not what happened,” she tells him, but his smile only grows wider. She rummages through her book bag and takes out something. “Anyways, I need you to return this book to her. Right now.”

She hands him it, making sure to tuck the letter neatly within it. Pedro frowns. 

“_Now_?” He repeats, and Hope nods firmly. “I haven’t had breakfast, yet. Tommy said that there’s chocolate-chip pancakes.” 

“Alright,” she takes the book back, making her words purposely slow. “I’ll be sure to tell your mother that you can’t perform a simple task such as—“

“Fine!” he whines, grabbing the book and running off once again. Hope doesn’t have to watch him to know that the book will reach its destination. She doesn’t even think twice about the fact that she barely hesitated in handing it over. It feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest, and her book bag is less heavy on her shoulder now. 

The relief ends shortly when she realizes that she has Potions first thing, and nothing has changed over the weekend, and Josette is still her partner, and she’s still upset with her. 

She arrives late with Penelope, to the chastise of Professor Slughorn. She shrugs it off and sits down, trying to ignore the dread sitting in her stomach when Josette barely glances at her. 

Professor Slughorn tells them that they will begin preparing the ingredients for the Dreamless Sleep potion. 

“As you all know, this potion is used quite a lot in the Wizarding World. When one finds themselves plagued by nightmares or with an injury, once taken this draught will make them drowsy immediately. The amount they drink is directly proportional to how long they will dreamlessly sleep. Tomorrow, during Double Potions, we will begin the steps for concocting one. Today, we will cut, grind, ration, and prepare the ingredients for it.” 

He writes a set of instructions on the black board and leaves the class to it. Hope grabs a knife and watches Josette from the corner of her eye. The girl herself seems fine, eyes only a little bit puffy. Her hair is straight today, falling around her face in a way that has Josette repeatedly tucking strands around her ear. Hope thinks she covers up well, and that the pureblood would have never noticed if she hadn’t witnessed last night. Should she bring it up, or stay quiet instead? 

Furthermore, had the muggleborn received the book? Had Pedro actually delivered it, or had she misplaced her trust in him?

Hope continues to watch the other girl quite obviously, not realizing how conspicuous she’s being. She can feel Rose’s eyes on the back of her head if she shifts just right. Several times she nearly cuts her own finger off while chopping ingredients—she’s so distracted—but her eyes still linger expectantly on Josette. 

“Don’t tell me you’re expecting my gratitude,” Josette snaps suddenly, hitting a Valerian sprig too harshly. Hope gulps thickly before replying. 

“No, actually, I—“ Hope wants to tell her that she wants a chance to explain, that she wants her forgiveness instead. 

“What did you do to that boy, anyways?” Josette interrupts. Hope doesn’t understand immediately. “He’s only a first year. Did you blackmail him?” Of course Hope knows that Pedro’s only a first year. She wonders what Pedro said to make her look like a monster.

“No—“ 

“He was practically shaking, trembling with fear. You could have just given it to me yourself. Did you really have to terrorize him like that?” Hope thinks that she’ll keep ranting if she doesn’t stop her right now. 

“No—“ 

“You can’t just bully first-years, Mikaelson—“

“I did _not_ bully him,” Hope reiterates finally, feeling slightly flustered. She remembers how Pedro had blushed when she brought up Josette. _Pretty_, she can almost still hear the way he said it. She responds without thinking. “You can’t fault the boy for getting nervous around a pretty girl.” 

She regrets it immediately. She doesn’t even know why she said it. If she wasn’t in class, she would point her own wand at her temple and knock herself out. 

The air seems to collect stagnantly in the room, until she feels like all the oxygen has been consumed and she’s left breathing in poison. Everything passed Josette has turned blurry, all people and objects in the background have disappeared. She waits with toxic breath as Josette looks at her very curiously. 

The muggleborn only furrows her eyebrows, says nothing at all, and then goes back to preparing her ingredients. 

Hope clenches her fist so hard the inside of her Mikaelson ring leaves a red imprint against angry, buzzing skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ll be replying to all comments by tomorrow :)


	14. Chapter 14

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stands alone in his office, watching the rain pound against dirty glass he could never seem to clean completely. His phoenix, Fawkes, settles gently on a bookstand next to him. His fierce, red eyes glow into Dumbledore’s own, and the headmaster imagines that the world is burning around him. 

The sound of intense arguing from the entrance breaks the silence, and Dumbledore turns around just as the door bangs open. 

He allows the professors to continue to bicker for only a moment longer. 

“Silence!” he bellows, and the sound of flapping wings fills the room as Fawkes leaves.“We cannot fall into childish squabbles. I won’t allow it.” 

The teachers all look down, perhaps in shame or something else. The room prepares themselves to start discussing the prophecy again, as they’ve done every night since Trelawney first foresaw it.

“Now, back to the matter at hand,” Dumbledore says, he turns his attention to Slughorn. “We’ll start with you, Horace. How was your class today?” 

“Completely silent,” the man replies as everyone turns to look at him. “Miss Mikaelson and Miss Saltzman exchanged a few words at the start of the period, but that was all. I fear...I fear that all our desperate measures are futile.” 

“Do not despair,” Dumbledore tells him quickly, reading the demoralizing tone in the room. “It is only Monday. We still have time. What about you, Minerva?” 

“The same,” the witch says, her eyes trained not on Dumbledore, but above his head to watch the rain. “They did not talk at all, but I had a feeling that Miss Mikaelson wanted to. She kept opening her mouth and then shutting it. It was quite peculiar.” 

“_Really_?” The old man’s eyes twinkle. 

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall nods. “And actually, this afternoon, the shopkeep of Gladrags Witch and Wizardwear—Endel Faustino—contacted me. Remember how we instructed him to keep us informed on the students buying muggle clothes and those not for Friday? He told me that Miss Mikaelson and her friend, Miss Nicot, visited the store. Miss Nicot actually purchased a few items.” 

Dumbledore smiles as many professors gasp quietly, not quite believing their ears. 

He nods contemplatively, content to let the ramifications of such a story settle profoundly in the room. “And you, Severus?” 

“There was no discussion as well,” the man recalls. “I confess, however, there was barely any opportunity for such conversation. Currently, I am preparing my students to start producing their own patronuses, and that involved a lot of concentration in arrangement for tomorrow. I expect that there will be plenty of talking then.” 

The teachers drop their heads from him, as if they expected more good news, or at least yearned for something not so terrible at all. 

“I must admit, however,” Snape continues, “the muggleborn is bringing out the best in Miss Mikaelson. Together, they’ve been rewarded more than a hundred house points, propelling Slytherin far in front of the other houses.” 

“I agree!” Professor Vector speaks up. “You should see them in my class, Albus. I have not witnessed such motivation from Miss Mikaelson since her third year, and both she and Miss Mikaelson are doing extraordinarily well.” 

McGonagall, Slughorn, and Snape voice their consensus, beginning to recount how remarkably strong the pair have been performing in their classes to the others. 

“Uh uh,” Professor Flitwick—the Charms Professor—tuts. “Not in my class. Miss Mikaelson is constantly distracted—and it pains me to say this—but at times, I fear she does not know her wand from a stick.” 

“Oh, Merlin!” Professor Sprout gasps. “I thought it was just me! Miss Mikaelson has also proved to be...unfocused...in my class as well. Wednesday’s events proved that exceedingly. Furthermore, I have noticed a decline in her participation.” 

“Hmm,” Professor Trelawney—the Divination teacher—hums. Professor McGonagall rolls her eyes. “Now that I think about it, Miss Saltzman’s attention has seemed preoccupied in the last few days. In fact, during third period, she claimed she saw an apple in her crystal ball! It was _clearly_ a candle!”

The crazy woman almost sounds appalled. 

“Yes, yes,” Professor Hagrid—Care of Magical Creatures—adds. “I don’t mean to, er, insult the muggleborn, but, ah, her performance in class now is much different than her first day, if yeh get what I mean.” 

The room dissolves in aimless muttering as the teachers attempt to take in the new information and figure out what it implies.

Professor Dumbledore understands it immediately. 

“Is it any coincidence that the only classes they are not distracted in are the ones they share with each other?” he asks. 

The professors grow silent once more, the headmaster’s words startling and stark in the contrast of the room. 

“I believe that is all for today. Thank you for gathering here,” he ends. “Horace, _do_ keep us updated on the events of their detention tonight, please.” 

—

Hope’s detention starts at eight o’clock. She makes it to the potions classroom sharply at eight o’five. 

She walks there purposely slowly, entirely consumed by her thoughts. Today had gone terribly. 

After Potions class, sitting next to Josette in Transfiguration had been just awful. DADA was much of the same. To make it all worse, now she had to serve detention with the other girl as well. 

Hope didn’t know where she stood with her. On one hand, the pureblood knew she was supposed to hate her with all her being. As time passed, that grew much more difficult. Especially hearing the muggleborn cry last night, it was harder to remain cold and hateful.Merlin, her family would disown her if they knew where her thoughts were going right now...

“You’re late.” 

Hope sighs, carefully distancing herself from the situation and placing a stoic mask back on as her eyes snap to Josette’s. She looks around and finds that Slughorn’s not here yet. 

“What are you going to do? Tell on me?” she drawls, leaning against the cool wall outside the door. Josette steps once toward her. 

“Maybe I will—“ 

“Hello, girls, I apologize dearly for my absence; I was in a meeting with the headmaster, which ran late, as you can probably presume,” Slughorn appears out of thin air, talking nervously and quickly. He unlocks the classroom door and gestures for both of them to follow him. 

Both girls don’t move, however, nervous that whoever goes first will get jinxed in the back. The doorway only fits one at a time, after all. 

Hope waves her hand as if to say, _you first_, and Josette shakes her head as if to say, _no way_. 

“Hurry, come along now,” Slughorn calls after them, and Hope doesn’t budge. She won’t jinx Josette, especially in front of a teacher, but she can’t trust that the girl won’t do the same to her after everything the pureblood has done. She knows Josette definitely doesn’t trust her. 

At last, the muggleborn finally sighs, stiffly walking through the entrance, Hope following behind her. Slughorn claps his hands once as if to settle something. 

“Tonight, you will be cleaning the school’s old supply of cauldrons. I am aware that this task doesn’t take a long time—but this detention is supposed to serve as a punishment—so I will not be allowing you to use magic. In addition, I won’t be supervising you. Instead, I’ll be in a nearby room helping Professor Filch. I hope you two are mature enough to do this on your own,” he says. Hope’s eyes widen, and a complaint automatically jumps up her throat. There’s about a hundred cauldrons scattered messily on tops of desks, filled to the rim with grime and smeared with dust. Is he seriously leaving them alone to do all this work? 

“Please hand me your wands now,” he adds, giving Hope a sharp look as if he knows what she’s thinking. Hope knows that handing him her wand is a death sentence. She’s not exactly an expert in wandless magic, and she’s afraid that she won’t be able to defend herself. Deep down, she knows that Josette won’t try anything, just as she herself won’t, but fear is a monster she knows all too well. 

After watching Josette hand over her wand, she takes her own out and does the same. 

“Alright, when you’re done you can come fetch your wands from me. However, you cannot stop until you’re finished, and if you leave before then I will add another day of detention to your two weeks. Understand?” he declares finally, and Hope nods with a lump in her throat. She’s not exactly scared, she just _really_ doesn’t want to be here. 

He looks around the classroom almost anxiously, like he’s dying to leave, before making his way to the door. Hope realizes that he never gave them anything to clean the cauldrons with. 

“Sorry,” Hope calls after him, not really sorry at all. “Do you expect us to clean these disgusting things with our bare hands?” 

“Oh, yes!” Slughorn squeaks, as if he’s just remembered something. He opens a nearby drawer and pulls out two pieces of unwashed cloth. 

He then throws the rags towards her. Hope inspects them with wary eyes, tracing the outlines of dark splotches and stains. The Potions Professor salutes them and then promptly leaves. 

Without him in it, the room drifts to silence. Josette huffs and grabs a rag, walking all the way across the other side of room—Hope guesses, as far away from her as possible—and starting on a cauldron. 

Hope waits several long seconds before sitting down and propping her feet up on a table. She closes her eyes and leans back, feigning taking a nap even though her body is much too awake to Josette’s own. 

“I _know_ you’re not going to watch me do all the work while you sit back and relax,” an angry voice comes nearby and Hope slowly opens her eyes to see Josette crossing her arms, dangling a rag directly in front of her face. 

“It’s your fault we’re even here. You just _had_ to go flaunting around your magic. Besides, I am not touching that filthy rag.” Hope curls her lip, her eyes meeting Josette’s dangerously, before she closes them and acts like she’s going back to sleep. She needs to remain calm, she needs to act like she doesn’t care as much as she really does. And if she can get on Josette’s nerves to do it, she will. 

“One—I was defending myself. Two—Slughorn said we’re not leaving until we finish,” the muggleborn says, matter-of-fact.

“Better get to it, then, Saltzman.” Hope stretches and yawns, causing Josette to pout. 

“Fine,” she drops the rag, and it hits Hope’s knee. Hope snaps her eyes open and hurriedly pats her leg. She had paid a lot of money for those pants. “If you won’t do any work, I won’t _either_.” 

She sits down pointedly. 

“No, I don’t think so.” Hope sits up, glaring at the other girl. “If anything, you’re more qualified to do this kind of dirty work.” 

Hope regrets saying _that_ one immediately. 

“Why?” Josette asks casually, like she genuinely doesn’t understand. Hope raises her eyebrows like it’s obvious. “Because I’m a _mudblood_?” 

Hope visibly finches, not quite expecting it, and looks away. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she wonders if Josette can hear it. 

“I want you to _say_ it,” Josette tells her, in a voice like fire. Hope can’t catch her breath completely, and her eyes sting with tears that won’t build. She feels trapped, guilt sticking to her insides like kindles until every breath is a flame. 

Hope can’t find the confidence to meet her eyes. 

“_Say it_.” 

The muggleborn finally stands up, and laughs like she can’t believe it. She takes the forgotten rag and begins to wipe down a cauldron, glancing at the clock above their heads. 

“_Tojours Pur_,” the brunette enunciates in perfect French. Hope forgot that she had come from Beauxbatons—a French magic school. “What a joke.” 

Hope swallows thickly at the mention of her family’s motto—_Tojours Pur, Always Pure_. It was inscribed on the Mikaelson family crest in New Orleans centuries ago, and it had created a legacy of wealth and fame. Nothing had changed since then, and her family was still as prejudiced as ever. 

“What did you just say?” Hope stands up, her voice a thin sheet of ice. Josette barely glances at her despite the fact that the pureblood is stepping towards her, gaze threatening. 

“You heard me,” Josette says, before sighing and placing her rag down, her palms flat against the desk. “Legacies mean nothing if we don’t write them ourselves. You have everything you want because your family gave it to you. You have your reputation because your father built it for you. Without your family, you’re _nothing_. You wouldn’t know hard work if it slapped you in the face.” 

She says every word so nonchalantly that it digs deep beneath Hope’s skin and claws at her veins. 

“How dare you? Who are _you_ to talk about family?” Hope hisses, her face burning. Can Josie tell how embarrassed she is? She shakes her head, almost chuckling. “Family...at least _my_ family is proud of me.” 

She doesn’t see the slap coming, but, boy, does she feel it. Josette whirls on her, and Hope realizes that she’s too close for her own good. She most definitely shouldn’t have brought up the letter again, but she was feeling too insecure and humiliated not to. And she needed to get the upper hand fast. Of course, things didn’t work out that way. 

Hope stumbles back with the force of the slap, immediately drawing her hand up to her cheek. She looks back at Josette, her eyebrows furrowed like she still can’t believe that the girl slapped her. 

It seems that Josette can’t believe it herself, because she automatically steps forward and apologizes. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” she says, her arms thrown forward like she wants to help. Hope puts a hand in front of her to stop her. What was the point of any of this? Just to uphold family tradition of making muggleborns feel like shit? Hope feels like the only person really feeling like shit is her own self. 

“No,” Hope tells her, clenching her teeth through the still-present stinging pain. Damn, that girl can really slap. “_I_ am.” 

She picks up the rag that Josette had dropped on her knee earlier, being careful to put her fingers on the one clean part. She rubs it roughly back and forth against a particularly dirty spot on the cauldron in front of her. 

“I didn’t read your stupid fucking letter, Saltzman,” she whispers, but it echoes in the hush of the room. Josette parts her lips. 

“How did you..?” 

“Know what to say?” Hope finishes. Merlin, that stain really isn’t coming off. She rubs it harder before dropping the pretense altogether. The only time she’s come close to cleaning is watching the house elves do it at the Mikaelson Manor.   


“I saw you...last night,” she says. “You were with Lowly, and...you were crying, I think?” 

Her voice comes out much more watery than she would like. She glances over at Josette, who looks like she’s just about to die on the spot. 

The pureblood opens her mouth, but she doesn’t know exactly what she wants to say. Does she want to make her feel better about it? Or does she want to make herself feel better about it? 

Just then, Slughorn comes back into the room. 

“Thank _Merlin_, you two haven’t killed each other!” he says. Hope raises her eyebrows. “Your detention is ending early, I’m afraid. There’s been an incident in your common room and Professor Snape wants everyone there at once.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone :) thank you for all the kudos and comments! i truly appreciate it, and i will be updating “the more things change (the more they stay the same)” next bc someone commented about it haha


	15. Chapter 15

Hope barely manages to squeeze herself through the common room door from the amount of bodies packed tightly into the room. She shoves her way through all of them, and loses Josette somewhere between the entrance and her friends. She’s pretty sure the girl went straight to her dorm room. 

Looking once more for her friends, she finds them standing by the couches, their positions mirrored in that they’re all crossing their arms and staring up at Professor Snape, who is standing near the staircase to the dorms. It would be funny if Hope had any idea at all as to what happened. 

“What did you do?” she hisses to Penelope, only half-serious, and the girl glares at her. 

“How was your detention?” Penelope throws back, and Hope’s lip pulls up in a sneer. She definitely did not need a reminder. She still can’t believe she had apologized to a muggleborn, and if Josette told anyone at all, her family would kill her. Yet, a part of her was relieved. Lying that she had read that letter really taken a toll on her. 

Hope’s thoughts stray momentarily before she forces herself to snap back to the situation at hand, and she notices a second later that Penelope and Rose are completely wet and dripping a weird green substance. They’re both wearing their night robes, and when Hope leans forward...

“You two smell like wet Hippogriff.” The words escape her before she can think twice and both girls narrow their eyes. Maya laughs behind her hand, her giggles cut off sharply when Penelope looks viciously in her direction. 

“Attention. Attention!” Hope glances back to Snape, who’s still standing impatiently in the last place she saw him. “It has come to my concern that a few of your..._peers_...have decided to play—their idea of—a practical joke. The school’s house-elves are currently working to eradicate all traces of the foul odor left by these—“

“Foul odor?” Hope asks. 

“Some piece of shit put exploding dungbombs under our beds,” Rose tells her, and Hope raises her eyebrows. She’s barely ever heard the girl curse before, and she’s slightly surprised that students have started a prank war in the middle of October. They usually wait until _after_ winter break to begin. 

“You should all be able to go back to your rooms shortly,” Snape continues. “First, second, and third year dorms have all been cleared. I will convene with the rest of our staff in the morning, and we will attempt to survey the possible culprits and apprehend them accordingly. However, mark my words, there will be no petty revenge, and these juvenile pranks end here. If I catch anyone from my house petulantly retaliating, they will automatically lose fifty house points. Do I make myself clear?” 

Not a single person nods or speaks, and if Snape’s eyes twinkle in the light, Hope does not think twice about it. 

“_Good_.” 

The students divide and make space as Snape leaves the room, and the room grows silent. Hope sits down on an empty armchair, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watches the first, second, and third years all trot up to their rooms, leaving the rest of the students waiting patiently in the common room. 

This is a matter for the bigger kids. 

“Alright, well, this was obviously the work of Gryffindors,” she speaks up once she sees the younger kids have left, finding that many of the Slytherins are already looking to her for guidance. This isn’t the first time this has happened, after all, and every time it happens she’s always in charge of the next move. “Ravenclaws are too clever for something as dull as dungbombs, and Hufflepuffs can’t see passed the rainbows and unicorns up their asses to even think about doing any harm.” 

“That leaves those reckless idiots,” Hope adds, merely thinking out loud. “Did anyone see anything?” 

Her eyes flit across the room, but no one says a word and, strangely, when she briefly looks at Sebastian, he can’t quite meet her gaze. 

“Maybe it was an inside job!” someone yells from the back of the crowd. Hope examines her cuticles, bored. 

“Yeah, maybe there’s a mole, and that’s how they got help?” another person agrees, and everyone starts nodding like fools. 

“Help from who?” she drawls, sitting up straighter. 

“What if it’s that _Saltzman_ girl!” 

“The _mudblood_, figures.” 

“Her sister’s a _bloody_ Gryffindor, it couldn’t be more obvious!” 

Hope holds a hand up, and everyone dissolves into silence again. She doesn’t know what to say, though. What did she think she was going to do, defend a muggleborn? The pureblood suddenly feels her insides like liquid, and she’s too afraid to speak for fear of her voice coming out like water. 

She desperately tries to form words against her lips and then—

The most girly scream Hope’s ever heard comes up from the stairs and travels down to the students. They all look towards the dorms at once. Josette Saltzman herself comes flyingout of the upstairs hallway, waving her hand in front of her face and soaked to the bone. She sways dangerously like she’s either about to faint or vomit. 

Hope, too, becomes dizzy as the putrid stench of dungbomb floats down the staircase and directly into her nostrils. Ethan doubles over in front of her. 

Realizing that she is, in fact, a witch, Hope pulls out her wand and waves it in Josette’s direction, the smell immediately dissipating. 

As she takes in what’s happened, Josette’s face hardens, her gaze steels, and for maybe the first conscious time, Hope could see why the muggleborn was in Slytherin. It seemed as though she wanted vindication just as much as any of the other students in her house. 

—

Hope’s first two classes of the morning are cancelled due to dungbombs repeatedly setting off in the classrooms as well, giving her the ever-lasting memory of Professor Slughorn actually, _honest_-to-Merlin, running; and the never-ending imprint of Professor McGonagall transforming into a cat—and leaping away—in her brain. 

She skips Charms in favor of taking a shower—because she could spell away the smell all she wanted but she could never truly remove the memory—which causes her to miss Herbology due to the line of girls for the bathroom. 

She walks into DADA with her third set of robes for the day, her thoughts completely consumed on revenge. Last night, all of the Slytherins in the common room had thrown out ideas for pranks, but nothing substantial or particularly witty had caught her eye. 

She twirls her wand contemplatively in her hand as she continues to think about it, turning around when yelling reaches her ears. 

Hope’s eyes latch onto Josette Saltzman coming through the door, arguing heatedly with her sister. 

“You couldn’t have _warned_ me!” the girl hisses, and her sister plays stupid. 

“About what?” Elizabeth asks, looking anywhere but Josette. The brunette huffs and storms away, finding her chair and sitting down next to Hope.

“Aww, family troubles?” Hope taunts, placing her usual smirk onto her face. 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” Josette narrows her eyes, and Hope feels all her energy deplete. Perhaps she should stop bringing up family so often in their conversations. Actually, she should not mention last night ever again. 

“No. I don’t care at all, actually,” she says, a heavy weight in her chest and bitter acid in her mouth, and no one utters a single word more. 

Professor Snape comes into the room a moment after the bell rings—all hard lines and billowing robes—and takes his regular spot at the front of the room. 

“I understand that many of you have had a difficult day,” Snape starts sympathetically, before every considerate bone leaves his body. “It’s only about to become harder.” 

Hope rolls her eyes. 

“Today, we will practice casting the patronus charm. This spell is one of the most difficult to perform, and as I noted yesterday, you will not get it on your first try, or even your tenth for that matter. It is of great importance that you stay concentrated throughout this lesson, and if one feels like they must disrupt the class’ focus, they will be swiftly excused from the class,” Snape sternly looks over his students, before continuing. “Now to the spell itself.” 

Snape takes out his wand, pointing it up in front of him. “Expecto Patronum.” 

White light escapes the tip of his wand, and a magnificent, silver doe begins to prance around the room. Hope feels entranced as she watches it. 

Snape waves his wand a second later and the patronus steadily fades. 

“Remember the incantation, say it firmly. Do not waver, do not hesitate,” he instructs. “Your wand movements must be precise, and the spell will not work if you can’t clear your mind and think of a happy memory.” 

Hope blinks rapidly, as if that could compel a positive time in her life forward. She does not succeed. 

“Now, everyone, please stand up.” 

Snape points his wand along the rows of desks and chairs, and they go flying to the sides of the room, leaving the students to stand in an open space. 

“You may begin whenever you feel ready.” 

At once, students begin to take out their own wands. The classroom fills with the sounds of incantations and quick wand movements. 

“Expecto patronum,” Hope whispers, her wand moving flawlessly through the air. She sighs when nothing happens, and tries to lose herself into a distant, happy memory. 

_ It’s Hope Mikaelson’s fourth birthday and the entire backyard of the Mikaelson Manor is packed with people she doesn’t recognize. She’s opening presents—arguably one of her favorite things to do in this period of her life—and her family is crowding her with excitement.  _

_ “My turn!” her uncle Kol yells, shoving himself through everyone to reach her. He pulls out a large box, wrapped in Slytherin green. Hope likes big, green presents the best.  _

_ She moves her hands over it and tears it apart, much to the amusement of her father. He laughs and makes a small comment comparing himself to her. She doesn’t understand the joke and dismisses it.  _

_ “It’s a bwoom!” she screams with glee as she finally rips the box open. She hasn’t entirely nailed the ‘R’ sound yet.  _

_ “You got my four-year-old child a broom!” Hayley Mikaelson whisper-yells through clenched teeth. Uncle Kol shrugs.  _

_ “It’s a toy,” he says. Her mom examines the box further, but Hope doesn’t completely notice it, too focused on the broom.  _

_ “‘Can fly up to five feet’? Are you crazy?!”  _

_ “What? It’ll keep her in shape.”  _

_ “She’s a baby!”  _

_ “Daddy!” Hope’s already running to her father. She tugs at his dress robes and he kneels down next to her. “Help me fly!”  _

_ Niklaus Mikaelson can only laugh. He picks her up and they run away to the nearby quidditch field the manor has parallel to the gardens. The sound of the party falls away in the distance.  _

_ “Put your hands right here.” He grabs her hands in his once they reach the field, and places them near the handle. She giggles. His hands are more than three times larger than hers.  _

_ She settles on the broom underneath his steady arms, and it begins to float. The wind breezes softly in her hair and she feels like she’s on top of the world. Her father says something and she laughs, but Hope can’t quite remember whatever witty remark he said. _

_ All she can remember is his laughter cutting off, and she looks around to find the reason why.  _

_ There’s a man she never noticed before by the outskirts of the field. He comes closer and Hope loses her balance. She shifts dangerously on the edge of the broom, leaning back and forth to steady herself. It doesn’t work.  _

_ “Mister Mikaelson, Malivore Clarke is requesting a meeting with you.”  _

_ For a tiny instant, her dad looks away from her, but it’s just enough—and then she’s falling, falling, falling... _

_ “Daddy!” _

“Expecto Patronum,” Hope tries, but the memory has already been ruined and all the happiness she felt remembering it disappears. Nothing comes out of her wand once again, and she quickly becomes annoyed. 

She looks around to find that everyone else is in much of the same predicament. After several minutes, no one has been able to even produce a single spark. Rafael Waithe has resorted to yelling the spell, which has the few students around him clamping their hands over their ears. Milton Greasley doesn’t even have his wand pointing in the right direction, the tip at his chest instead of outward. 

Hope glances over to see how Josette is faring. She watches as the other girl pronounces the spell and motions with her wand perfectly. 

“Expecto Patronum,” she says, her voice not a whisper nor a yell. A single white whisp releases from her wand before dissipating. Hope can’t help staring. 

“How did you do that?” she asks, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. Josette regards her unkindly. 

“Do you not listen at all?” the muggleborn says, quite rudely in Hope’s opinion. “Try to think of a happy memory.” 

“Do you think I’m just standing here, twiddling my thumbs, hoping something will happen?” Hope responds, equally rudely and sarcastically. “Of _course_ I’ve been trying.” 

“It’s not my fault if you’ve had a crappy childhood, Mikaelson,” the other girl says, slightly exasperated. Hope feels a twinge near where her heart should be. She swallows thickly. 

“Do it again, then, since you’ve had such a _great_ one,” Hope gestures to her wand, hoping that the first time was a fluke and that Josette will just embarrass herself. Hope certainly feels humiliated.

Josette arches an eyebrow, accepting the challenge. She raises her wand and steadies her body forward, and Hope watches as her entire face relaxes. Her eyebrows that had been knit together before separate, and her lips part just barely enough for an incantation to pass them. 

“Expecto Patronum.” 

The same white, small whisp releases from her wand, attracting the other inhabitants of the room as it remains for a steady moment. Hope looks on, entirely captivated, as Josette smiles and watches the faint glow of light in the air. Someone clears their throat and she glances away, feeling oddly flustered. Had Snape’s classroom always been this warm?

“Nice, Jo,” someone says, and Hope glances around the room to find the blonde Gryffindor whose name she thinks is Jade. She’s pretty sure that the girl is also muggleborn. Hope looks back at Josette to see her smiling at the Gryffindor, and the two share a long, sweet moment. 

The pureblood frowns. 

—

Hope sips at her pumpkin juice with distaste, eyeing the Gryffindor table. Her dinner sits untouched on her plate. She watches as the blonde Gryffindor from DADA laughs with her friends. Her eyes darken and her lip quirks up in a sneer, a habit she had been trying to get rid of since this morning. Her jaw trembles against the glass of juice, and she remembers something Josette had said. 

_ “You think people hate me for my blood? They hate you even more for yours.”  _

She sets the cup down, feeling bile rise in her throat. 

She glances away and to her friends, who are all laughing and joking about one thing or another. She notices an absent spot. 

“Where’s Penelope?” she asks. Rose tilts her head in confusion, perhaps for Hope’s sake. 

“She has detention with McGonagall, remember?” Hope drops the fork she had just picked up, and it clatters messily against her plate. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_,” she curses, standing up and grabbing her book bag. It was nearly eight o’clock, and time for her own detention. 

“What’s wrong?” Rose calls after her, but Hope has no answer. 

She doesn’t sprint to Slughorn’s class—she’s a Mikaelson after all—but she _thinks_ about it, briefly. 

When she gets there, Slughorn and Josette are waiting for her. 

“Thank you for blessing us with your presence, Miss Mikaelson,” Slughorn laughs, completely sardonically. Hope glances at her watch, then at Josette, who’s glaring at her. She had never cared about being late before. Why did it matter now? 

“I’m only one minute late, sir.” 

“Hmm. I guess you’ll _only_ have to serve _one_ more day of detention,” he laughs again, and Hope dearly wants to kill him. She grumbles underneath her breath and pretends not to notice Josette smothering giggles behind her hand when the man turns around. 

“Follow me. Right this way,” he murmurs, and leads them both to a supply closet. He opens the door and Hope quickly sees that it’s a very cramped supply closet. He flicks the light on and she nearly throws up at the horrendous state of it. 

“Your task for tonight is to clean and take inventory of all my potion ingredients. That involves thoroughly disinfecting each jar and counting every single ingredient. Once again, you cannot use any magic at all. Your wands, please.” 

Hope doesn’t hesitate when she hands her wand over this time. He fishes a list out of his pocket and gives it to Josette. 

“I’ll see you girls later. Please notify me when you believe you’re finished.” 

He shuts the door behind him, leaving the two girls to take a better look at the closet. There’s at least twenty jars on each shelf, and every one is completely filled with different bits and pieces of ingredients. Hope almost can’t tell what’s inside them because they’re so dirty. What’s worse is that if she moved more than a foot she might bump into Josette—the closet is _that_ small. 

The lightbulb above them gives off a weak glimmer before disappearing altogether. 

_Great_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the kudos and comments! i loved reading them, and i’ll be apply to them tomorrow if i get a chance :) my teachers are flooding me with homework online haha
> 
> Expecto Patronum: spell to conjure a patronus


	16. Chapter 16

“Can you _please_ stay on your side?” 

The girls had decided to split up the work pretty quickly to avoid bumping into each other. In fact, they agreed that Hope would start on the right side and Josette on the left, but overtime the muggleborn had migrated to her side more and more. 

  
And Hope is beginning to feel her presence like a flame directly to her skin. 

“Do you have to be so rude?” Josette asks, and Hope pauses briefly as she begins to take the ingredients out of a jar. She can barely see what’s right in front of her, the only light in the room coming from the door they left slightly open. 

“I said _please_.” 

She hears a deep, heavy sigh in response. 

“You’re not even doing anything correctly,” Josette says, puffing out a breath. “You can’t just wipe something once and call it clean.” 

Hope sets down the ingredients she had been counting. 

“Merlin, stop talking,” she grits out. “This is the fifth time I’ve lost count due to your incessant need to speak.” 

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to speak at all if you could just do something right for once.” 

“You know what?” Hope turns around, prompting Josette to do so as well. The muggleborn puts her rag down on a shelf and crosses her arms. “None of this matters. We cleaned..._hmm_...maybe three cauldrons yesterday, and demented, old Slughorn didn’t say a word—“

“Which was only because of that stupid prank!” Josette interjects. Hope’s skin pricks with irritation at being interrupted. “We would have finished our detention at three in the morning if you had it your way.” 

“Oh, _excuse_ me for not being a clean freak—“ 

“That’s it!” Hope fights down the urge to lash out at the other girl for interrupting again. Why had she let the muggleborn consume her thoughts in the first place? She was obviously crazy. “You and everyone else have made my life _hell_, especially with the name-calling. I never asked for any of this.” 

“I think you did. I mean, pranking your fellow housemates? Yes, you’re looking to fit right in!” Hope drawls sarcastically, only for the moment to suddenly grow serious. 

“You and I both know I had nothing to do with that.” It gives Hope pause just enough that she really looks at Josette—really, _really_ looks at her. 

The girl’s hair is slightly frizzy from working in a confined space, some strands sticking to her head with a light sheen of sweat. Her cheeks are thoroughly pink from the effort she’s put in, and her eyes are almost disappointed, sad even, but they hold a ferocity that scares Hope. The muggleborn even holds herself confidently despite the situation, and Hope thinks that she could easily find herself being smitten over the girl if not for her family. 

“Be that as it may,” Hope looks away, feeling oddly hot despite the fact that she had shrugged off her robe several minutes ago and had even rolled up her sleeves. “The rest of our house is convinced otherwise.” 

Josette doesn’t reply, only rubbing furiously at a dirty spot on the shelf. Hope herself resumes counting, the only noises in the room the sound of their breathing and jars banging against shelves. 

“What were you thinking?” Josette asks after almost twenty minutes. The sudden question surprises Hope, and she turns around to bump into the other girl. Josette was much closer than Hope had originally thought, something she hadn’t been able to see in the darkness of the room. 

The muggleborn steps away quickly, directly into the door and it closes fully shut. The left over light in the room diminishes, causing both their pupils to dilate. Hope gulps so loudly she’s sure Slughorn can hear it in the other room. 

“Sorry?” she asks, a weird lump in her throat she can’t completely swallow passed. Why the fuck did she just apologize? 

“Well, you _are_ going to get them back, right?” Josette says, like it’s obvious. Hope is deeply confused. 

“For the prank,” Josette clarifies, as if she’s talking to someone stupid. 

“Right,” Hope nods, suddenly understanding what the other girl means. Her throat still feels thick and tight. “Of course.” 

“So..?” Josette prompts. Hope knits her eyebrows together, wanting to know why Josette is so curious. 

“What, you want me to tell you everything so you can go running back to your friends and warn them?” she says spitefully, and Josette laughs. 

“Believe me, I have no intention of telling them anything after how poorly they warned me,” she says. 

Hope doesn’t respond for a long moment, causing Josette to gasp quite dramatically. 

“Hold on, you have no idea how you’re going to get back at them, do you?” she says gleefully, delighting in being right. Hope narrows her eyes, her blush getting lost in the darkness. 

“I do,” she lies, but it sounds false to her own ears. 

“Don’t worry,” Josette tells her, sickly sweet and fake. “We can’t all have clever ideas.” 

“Oh, really?” Hope leans in, her pride hurt. She’s a Slytherin, damn it—she should be able to be cunning and resourceful. “Tell me, then, Saltzman, what’s your awe-inspiring, _brilliant_ idea?” 

—

Josette Saltzman’s idea is very brilliant, indeed. 

They end up stealing some of Professor Slughorn’s supply of Bavincart venom, a potion ingredient that, when mixed with diluted Steingle-Ethanol pepper, severely lowers one’s inhibitions. It won’t cause any serious harm, but it’ll do enough that the Gryffindors won’t know what hit them, and most importantly, they took just the tiniest amount that Slughorn won’t notice anything gone at all. 

The ingredient’s also soluble in liquid, which is absolutely perfect for when Hope and Josette spike Gryffindor table’s pumpkin juice in the morning. They wake up extra early to do it, starting at separate ends of the great hall, just as they had done the night before in the closet, and adding the ingredient into each cup, glass, and goblet. 

The pair don’t acknowledge each other once during the prank or after. When Josette sits with her usual friends, Hope doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t laugh when Josette steadily avoids drinking anything at the table, and she doesn’t smile when the muggleborn catches her eye with a devious glint. 

“Why do you look like that?” Ethan asks, somewhere between Hope poking at her breakfast and trying to hide her anticipation.  


_ Any moment now.  _

“Like what?” she asks, feigning confusion. Ethan huffs and narrows his eyes. 

“Like you’re constipated,” he says. A few people look in their direction at his choice of words, but a glare from Hope sends them spluttering. “Or hiding something.” 

Hope smirks. 

“You’ll see soon,” she says, and not a minute later, Ethan understands. 

“Excuse me!” Milton Greasley has just stood up from his place at the table, pumpkin juice dribbling from his lips. “Can I have everyone’s attention? Now, please!” 

“Right, thank you!” Hope watches as the infamous blood traitor actually crawls onto the table, breaking several glass plates underneath his weight. He comes to a full stand, his goblet swaying dangerously in his hand. “I have something to confess.” 

“Elizabeth Saltzman! I love you!” he yells, and half the students in the room gasp. “I adore you, like my heart will burst if I can’t have you. Sure, we’ve just met last week, but will you be my girlfriend?” 

He gets down on one knee like he’s proposing, offering up his goblet, and the Slytherin table starts snickering. All except for one Sebastian Pyre, whose fists are clenching desperately underneath the table. A vein bulges darkly in his forehead, and Hope’s eyebrows knit together as she wonders why he’s so upset. 

“Absolutely _not_!” Elizabeth whisper-yells, and despite trying to keep her voice low, it reverberates loudly in the great hall. The muggleborn looks around humiliated. “Are you _crazy_?! Sit your ass back down!” 

“Milton! How _could_ you?!” a high-pitched scream follows, and Hope tilts her head to find Alyssa Chang crying. Unluckily enough, the Ravenclaw had decided to sit with her friend at the Gryffindor table this morning. “You barely even know her! I love you, more than she ever could!” 

  
She storms right up to the boy and throws her cup half-full of pumpkin juice directly in his face.   
  


Dazed with impulsivity and lack of inhibition, someone from Gryffindor throws a single piece of toast, and then a full, messy food fight breaks out. The rest of the three houses scramble for cover, many of the younger years being ushered out of the great hall by Prefects and older students. 

Elizabeth Saltzman screams as she receives a face full of mashed potatoes. “What kind of monster eats mashed potatoes for breakfast?!” 

Hope glances around for Josette, finding her crawling underneath one of the benches as she tries to avoid getting hit. She’s laughing, though, and there’s bits of pancake in her hair and syrup on her face. Hope finds herself chuckling, too, and then ducks just as an orange flies above her head. The smile slips off her face. She looks around with a frown, trying to find the source. 

“C’mon, Mikaelson, let’s get out of here,” Ethan grabs her arm and pulls her away. 

“One second,” she tells him, and he taps his foot impatiently. With the arm of a Seeker, Hope grabs a nearby hard-boiled egg and launches it as far as she can. If it hits the blonde Gryffindor that had been flirting with Josette yesterday in DADA, Hope doesn’t stick around to watch.

She attends Double Herbology and Double Charms with a smile pulling at her lips, and when she walks into Defense, she automatically searches for Josette. 

She wants to congratulate her on her _awe-inspiring brilliance_, or say something equally as _clever_—she’s been thinking about it all day, actually—but things don’t go as planned. 

She notices Josette by that frustrating blonde’s desk, leaning against it and twirling her hair like she’s _flirting_. Hope rolls her eyes, but can’t quite keep the scowl off her face. 

“Stop, Jo, we both know I smell like egg,” the blonde says, insistent. Josette throws her head back and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. She then places a hand on the other girl’s forearm, suddenly sincere. 

“No, you smell great, Jade,” she says. Oh, so her name _is_ Jade. They both smile. “I promise.” 

Hope can’t concentrate for the rest of the period, and to make it worse, every time she tries to think of a happy memory for her patronus, Josette pops into her head—always laughing, with bits of pancake in her hair and syrup on her face. 


	17. Chapter 17

By Thursday night, after Hope’s detention, news of Slytherin’s involvement in Wednesday morning’s events breaks out in the castle. 

As a result, Ravenclaw joins the prank war, and Hope thinks that’s probably due to Alyssa Chang being in the house. 

Hope is notified to Ravenclaw’s newfound participation when Pedro comes sobbing through the common room door, ugly boils across his face and a large lump on his ass. On his back, a message on parchment paper is taped— 

** Don’t mess with us again, Snakes. **

“Man, he’s only a first year,” Ethan murmurs as Pedro runs up to his room crying. 

“This means _war_,” Hope nearly growls, her teeth clenching so hard it hurts. 

“Ethan, go grab Pedro and take him to the hospital wing,” she tells him, and the boy nods quickly and jogs up the stairs. 

“Pen, Maya, come with me,” she bites out, not mad at her friends but with Alyssa Chang. It’s not her fault the Ravenclaw had gotten hurt in the crossfire, but it was certainly her responsibility to make sure Alyssa knew who she was fucking with. 

Both girls get up and take our their wands, prepared for a duel or a fight or _something_, and Rose quickly stops all three of them before they can leave the common room. 

“Are you three _absolutely_ insane?” she whispers-yells, crossing her arms and positioning herself directly in front of the door. “It’s like you’re _asking_ for an expulsion.” 

Hope huffs. “Come with us or get out of the way, Nicot.” 

“No, I won’t,” the girl says. “And none of you are going anywhere either. What do you think you’re going to do? Storm the Ravenclaw tower and fight all of them?” 

“No—“ 

“Really? Then what’s your plan?” 

Hope’s eyes drop to the floor. She hadn’t gotten that far. 

“Exactly.” 

Damn the girl for having such a clear head. 

Hope clenches her fist, crinkling the parchment paper she had been holding into a ball. 

“They can’t get away with this,” she mutters, her shoulders deflating. She had sworn to Pedro’s parents that she would protect him, and that no harm would ever come to him. And she could not even do that. 

Rose places a hand on her arm. 

“And they won’t.” 

After that, Rose sends them all up to their rooms—“_Fine_, Mom”—and Hope ends her restless day with a restless night. She tosses and turns in her bed, shutting her pillow over her head to block out the sound of Maya snoring loudly. 

It doesn’t work, and throwing the pillow at the girl does nothing either. 

She lays awake the entire night, her mind exhausted with thoughts of her awkward detention—where Josette had barely talked to Hope at all, no mention of the prank they had planned together—and thoughts of a tearful Pedro. 

In fact, it was the second night in a row where she had not been able to get much sleep. And she was positively frustrated. The whole thing irritated her in the extreme, so much so that she finds herself biting her nails down to the bed and destroying her hair through repeatedly running slim fingers through it. 

Hope gets up late on Friday morning, and chooses to skip breakfast, not trusting that Alyssa Chang won’t try and poison her or something equivalently awful. 

She walks to Potions alone, the corridors empty from everyone being in class, and she attempts to throw the classroom door open quietly. She cringes as she sees that Professor Slughorn is in the middle of talking, and freezes when she also sees that half of the students in the class are wearing muggle clothes. 

Hope nearly gasps—she can’t believe she had forgotten. Not that she would have worn the clothes anyway, but at least she could have prepared herself to receive another two nights of detention. 

“Oh, _hello_, Miss Mikaelson!” Slughorn greets her merrily. She frowns. “Ten points from Slytherin for your prolonged absence, and I’m afraid I will have to assign you two more days of detention for not conforming to the new dress code policy. Not to worry, however, it appears that most of your housemates will be joining you!” 

Hope hurries to her seat, ignoring some of the Ravenclaw’s snickering. He’s right, though, most of the Slytherins aren’t wearing muggle clothes, except for Josette. She catches her friends in the room—Penelope, who is not wearing muggle clothes and looks thoroughly pissed off, and Rose, who is wearing the muggle clothes she had purchased for herself. The girl smiles at her and mouths something Hope can’t quite understand. 

She throws her book bag on top of her desk and sits down, absentmindedly examining Josette’s choice of clothing. She’s wearing black short-shorts that show a lot more skin than Hope thought could be possible, and a yellow top with short sleeves. Her hair comes around her face in medium waves, and Hope feels _very_ insecure in her Hogwarts uniform. She thinks that maybe she should have just worn muggle clothing. 

“Now, back to what I was saying,” Slughorn continues. “While I realize that we finished brewing our Dreamless Sleep potions yesterday, it has become quite obvious to me that many of you experienced great difficultly with the task. Only a few of you could comprehend the difference between this draught and the one we concocted last week, which was the Sleeping Draught. Subsequently, we will spend the rest of the period brewing this potion once again. You know where the ingredients are. Please come to me if you should need _any_ help at all.” 

Like Hope did the day before, she stands up and gets their ingredients out of the pantry herself, because she’s polite like that. When she comes back, she finds Josette’s stupid fucking pewter cauldron on the table once again. Why did the other girl always insist on using it every time they made a potion? 

“Um, no.” 

“Sorry?” Josette prompts, briefly glancing up from where she’s setting the dial temperature to medium underneath the cauldron. 

“We are _not_ using that,” she says, gesturing to the cauldron, not cruelly but not kindly. 

“Why not?” Josette breathes in a fit of annoyance. She sets her palms open against the table, the bare skin of her arms jutted out towards Hope. The pureblood’s eyes linger on the warm, tan color before she turns away. 

“We always use yours,” she explains. “I’ve tried to be nice, Saltzman, I have, but it’s my turn.” 

“You’ve tried to be nice?” Josette laughs like Hope’s said something funny. 

“Yes,” Hope snaps, glowering. “Laugh all you want, but if you don’t remove it in the next five seconds I’ll get rid of the thing myself, and I can’t say that you’ll prefer my way better.” 

Josette sighs and takes out her wand, shrinking the cauldron with a wordless spell and putting it into her bag. Hope then takes her own out—a solid gold one—expanding it with a similar spell and placing it on the table. 

“Satisfied?” Josette asks her, and Hope says nothing at all. They spend the rest of the period soundlessly preparing the potion, and thanks to Hope’s cauldron, the Dreamless Sleep draught is brewed in little to no time and comes out absolutely perfectly. 

When Hope moves to cap the potion so they can turn it in, she’s struck with a terrible idea. She doesn’t know why, perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or how truly tired she is, but she pours the extra mixture they have into a separate vial and surreptitiously shoves it into the pocket of her robe. 

“What are you doing?” Josette hisses directly near her ear, and Hope shrugs her away. 

“Nothing,” she answers, and Josette’s eyes stay glued to her pocket, as if she has x-ray vision and can see through it. “Can you stop being so damn conspicuous?” 

“You don’t even know if we brewed it correctly,” Josette says, indignation lacing her voice. “It could harm whoever you’re planning to give it to.” 

Hope chooses not to reply, which serves to make the other girl even more mad. 

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t go tell Slughorn right now,” the muggleborn demands, and Hope pretends to think about it. 

“Hmm,” she hums. “You can, if you want. But if you do, I’ll be sure to tell him _all_ about who stole his _precious_ potion ingredients.” 

Hope really hopes Josette’s bluffing, because she knows telling Slughorn about his missing ingredients would condemn her to being in trouble as well. 

“We both did that, you asshat,” Josette whispers, and Hope can only feel glad that she even admitted to it. The past few days have been horrible with Josette avoiding the subject, and it got to a point where Hope would have thought she imagined the entire thing if not for Pedro. 

Hope shrugs, as if she can’t remember herself, even though it’s what keeps her up at night. “Did we?” 

The bell rings shortly, and Hope begins to pack up her stuff underneath Josette’s endless glare. 

“Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman,” Slughorn calls from the front, and Hope’s heart drops. “Would you mind staying for a couple of minutes after class?” 

She curses herself—she thought she had been even a little bit sneaky. How had that dumb oaf Slughorn noticed? 

She shoulders her book bag and pretends to not notice the upset look on Josette’s face. 

“I am not going down for this,” the muggleborn whispers, and Hope rolls her eyes. 

They wait behind as the class clears out, and when the last student leaves, Slughorn waves them over. 

“I apologize for keeping you after class, but I wanted to personally invite you both to my dinner party on the thirty-first,” he starts, clapping his hands gleefully as his bald head gleams underneath the low light. 

Halloween. Hope hates the holiday, she hates the costumes, she hates that people act like they can pretend they’re not utter monsters every other day of the year. Even more, she hates the infamous “Slug Club,” as Professor Slughorn himself so-named it. 

In fact, Slughorn only uses the club to make connections with wizards and witches who he deems will lead important lives, wizards and witches who had notorious last names and infamous parents. It’s for this sole fact that Hope Mikaelson has been a part of the club since her third year, though she never goes to any meetings. 

Yet, she _is_ slightly puzzled as to why Slughorn wants to invite Josette as well. He isn’t exactly a blood-purist, but he’s definitely not known to favorite muggleborn students. 

“I would be absolutely _delighted_ if you could join me on the night of that Saturday,” he adds. Hope relaxes as she realizes that she’s not in trouble, and now can’t wait to leave. She doesn’t know how many dinner parties he invited her to over the past couple of years, but the number is definitely large and she has never once attended one. “There will be food and music, and, of course, you can bring a date if you’d like.” 

He glances between the both of them almost _meaningfully_, but Hope forces her face to remain blank as Josette blushes a faint pink color. 

“If you do come, make sure to bring a costume. ‘Tis Halloween, after all.” He winks, probably going for excited or something equally weird, but Hope thinks he just looks nervous and creepy. She has the distant thought, again, that she can’t wait for him to dismiss them. She feels like she’s being held hostage. 

“Is that all, Professor?” she asks, and Josette looks at her in surprise. Hope doesn’t care at all that she’s being rude. 

“Well, yes,” he looks around the room, as if searching for something else to say. “But please, _do_ extend this invitation to your dear friend, Miss Nicot. She made the last party so fun.” 

Hope smiles falsely, as if she even understands the old man even though she skipped that particular event. 

“Expect a more formal invitation in the near future, girls. My TA is sending them out as we speak,” he says, and then promptly dismisses them. 

“Why did he only invite us two?” Josette whispers when Hope shuts the door behind them. The corridor is completely devoid of students. “Can all the students not attend or something?” 

“Not exactly,” Hope replies, not knowing how to say it right. “The party’s for his ‘Slug Club.’ Basically, he picks his favorite students—you know, the well-connected, famous, or wealthy ones?—and then sucks up to them just so he can reap the benefits when they graduate.” 

Josette nods, not immediately replying. 

“You shouldn’t go,” Hope tells her, but she doesn’t know exactly why. She wishes she could just shut up sometimes. 

“Why? Because I’m not pureblood or wealthy?” she asks, flaring her nose in anger. Hope sighs inside the safety of her mind. 

“No, that’s not what I meant—“ 

“I’m going,” Josette tells her, storming away. Hope stops walking, only watching her go. 

“_Fine_!” she shouts after her. 

Hope breathes deeply, desperately trying to collect herself. She sighs again, this time out loud, and then begins walking in the direction of her next class. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments and kudos! your guys mentions of the whole quarantine thing is making me laugh a lot, and it’s really inspiring me to keep writing through this :) i will be replying to everything by tomorrow!

Hope enters the Slytherin common room after dinner, looking for her friends. Her Friday night detention got cancelled—Snape had pulled her aside in the hallway and had said something about a weekly staff meeting that they could not cancel for two “unpleasantly insolent” students. He had also said that she needed to find Josette and tell her, but Hope had never gotten around to it. 

It’s not that she hadn’t told the other girl their detention was cancelled on purpose, it’s just she’d been busy. That’s all. 

She jerks herself out of her guilty thoughts, finding Maya and Ethan playing chess by the stone fireplace. Rose sits on the arm of Ethan’s chair, whispering advice into his ear; while Penelope is taking up the entire couch, laying down on it and waving her wand around randomly like she’s inebriated. 

“Hey, Machado, I need you to be my plus one to Slughorn’s dumb dinner party next Saturday.” 

Both Machado siblings perk up. She swallows thickly. 

“Sorry, I meant Maya,” she clarifies, and Ethan pouts. 

“Aww, Mikaelson, are you asking me out?” Maya drawls, a hand over her heart like she’s sincerely touched. 

“No, don’t be silly,” Hope says, her eyebrows furrowed. “Also, Rose, Slughorn invited you as well. I think you can bring your own date.” 

“So it _is_ a date!” Maya yells, triumphant. Hope rolls her eyes. 

“When did he say that?” Rose asks, playing with one of the chess pieces absentmindedly. Hope thinks it’s a pawn. 

“During first period,” Hope answers, throwing herself directly opposite the couch Penelope’s laying on. 

“It’s almost nine o’clock, H.” Rose rolls her eyes, setting the chess piece down. Hope can see clearly now that it’s a rook. “Why are you just telling me now?” 

“Maybe because you screwed all of us over and left us to get detention,” Penelope interjects, referring to the fact that the girl had worn muggle clothes the entire day, while the rest of them had each received two days of detention with Slughorn. 

“I already told you earlier, Nicots don’t _get_ detention. My mother would have killed me,” Rose says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Ethan watches her carefully, raising his eyebrows at her, and Hope observes the entire exchange quietly. “And we all heard Dumbledore during dinner, next week you’ll have to serve a month of detention if you don’t wear muggle clothes.”

“Let’s not change the subject,” Maya interrupts before Penelope can say something else. “Mikaelson was in the middle of asking me out.” 

“For the last time, that was not what I was doing,” Hope reiterates, but Maya waves her off, laughing. 

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Slughorn’s parties anyway?” she asks, a malicious glint in her eye. “You never were before.” 

_ Yes. Why are you so interested?  _

Hope swallows, her skin flushed where blood pools underneath. 

“It’s my sixth year,” she states simply. “I need to start making connections.” 

“That’s bull,” Maya mutters, “but whatever. As long as I get to be your date.” 

She winks, getting up and leaving to her dorm room, complaining about not getting enough sleep the night before. 

Hope smirks, and she’s about to make a comment about Maya’s snoring when she sees Josette Saltzman stomping over to her. Her smile slips off her face. 

“Mikaelson!” the muggleborn calls, and Hope stands up. The Dreamless Sleep potion feels heavy in her pocket, and she smooths down her wrinkled uniform, looking up and directly into furious eyes. She feels her other friends stand up with her. “What is wrong with you?” 

She pushes against Hope’s shoulders, but the pureblood doesn’t budge. Hope only arches her eyebrow in confusion and smirks. Inside, she’s screaming.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” the muggleborn pushes her again. Hope glances around to her friends, who are waiting for a signal to intervene. She waves them off, but they don’t move away. “I waited outside Slughorn’s classroom for nearly thirty minutes. Imagine my _surprise_, when he informed me that detention had been cancelled _hours_ ago, and _you_ were supposed to tell me.” 

“Oh, right...” Hope trails off, as if she’s just remembered what she was supposed to do. In fact, she had never forgotten, and it had plagued her mind for much of the night. She swallows a rock lodged deeply within in her throat; her friends’ eyes weigh terribly on her. “I must have forgotten.” 

“My bad.” She shrugs, turning away. Had her heart always sounded this loud in her ears? Merlin, she thinks everyone in the room can hear it. 

“I can’t believe you,” Josette whispers, just between the both of them, something akin to incredulity in her voice. She looks at Hope for a short moment before leaving the common room altogether. Hope’s heart continues to pound long after the door shuts behind her. 

—

Saturday morning holds the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw game. Hope wakes up extra early—with much thanks to the Dreamless Sleep potion—and only attends for the sake of Pedro, who will be getting his revenge on Alyssa Chang during the match. 

She had spent much of her time after classes teaching him a stinging hex, one that would create boils along a person’s skin and gives the pigment a weird complexion. It was perfect for Pedro, as it was a simple, temporary spell and the Chang girl would know exactly where it came from. 

He follows her through the stands, and they settle in the back as the game begins. He pulls out a red and gold—Gryffindor—flag from his pocket, and almost starts to wave it around before Hope hurriedly plucks it out of his hand and throws it off the bleachers. 

It falls five hundred feet to the ground, and Pedro watches it go down the entire time. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks, the corners his lips turning down. Hope sighs. 

“Where’d you get that flag?” she asks, instead of answering. 

“Jo gave it to me,” he says. Hope waits until Pedro looks away to roll her eyes. Merlin, that girl was everywhere. 

“Don’t ever talk to her again, do you hear me?” Hope watches as his eyebrows knit together. She can’t allow this to happen to him. If he becomes a blood traitor, his family would burn him off the tree, no matter his age. “She’s a mug—“

“She’s a bad influence,” she says, because saying that she’s a muggleborn doesn’t sound completely right. It didn’t sound like something Pedro would understand. 

“But she helped heal me after what Ravenclaw did,” he tells her. Hope frowns. 

“I thought Ethan took you to the hospital wing?” she asks. Pedro shakes his head vehemently. 

“No, he got distracted flirting with Rose.” 

“Oh,” Hope breathes. “Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean to forget about you. Rose and him...it’s complicated.” 

“And what about you and Jo?” Hope almost snaps at him, almost tells him that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, almost tells him that he can’t keep calling her Jo if he doesn’t want to get bullied, or worse, disowned. 

She opens her mouth, and none of that comes out. 

“It’s complicated.” 

About twenty minutes later, Hope finds an opening in the game and signals for Pedro to try the spell. Alyssa Chang has been commentating the entire time—something Hope realized she was only doing for extra credit—and the actual game is quite intense. 

It’s 120-130, in Ravenclaw’s favor. A bludger had just hit Ravenclaw Chaser McDonald Gangley in the head, sending him out of the field and briefly pausing the match. Hope knows that Gryffindor is going to win for sure now that Ravenclaw’s star chaser is out of the match. 

Pedro lifts his wand, pointing directly at Alyssa and whispers the incantation for the hex. It finds her perfectly, hitting her directly in the forehead. The microphone screeches as she drops it screaming, ugly warts and blisters stretching across her face. Her skin turns orange, and Hope laughing cues the Slytherins around her to snicker as well. 

“What the _hell_?” Hope can just barely hear what’s left of Alyssa’s voice in the microphone. She can still definitely hear the screaming. “I look like a flipping _carrot_!” 

Pedro and Hope share a secretive look, and she urges him to put his wand away. The boy still had it out for whatever reason—almost like he wanted to get caught. 

She looks up as he tucks it within his sleeve, trying to appear casual, and her eyes meet Josette, who is moving quickly throughout the crowd, trying to find a place to stand with her friends. She notices Jade trailing the muggleborn. 

Josette hasn’t yet seen her, and Hope briefly stares before looking away completely. Her breath feels suffocating in her throat—perhaps it was because they were so high up, and the air was lacking much oxygen at this attitude, yes, that _must_ be it! 

She turns back to the game, which has just resumed. As she had thought, without Gangley, Ravenclaw performs poorly and can’t score as much. Gryffindor catches the snitch thirty minutes later and Hope groans. 

It’s not like she was rooting for Ravenclaw, but the Slytherin motto was to cheer for everyone but Gryffindor. 

She glances over to where she last remembers seeing Josette—and when she thinks back to this moment, she’ll call it an accident—and doesn’t immediately find the other girl. She soon realizes it’s because she’s not facing this way, now turned to the side to hug Jade as they cheer for Gryffindor in true house spirit. Hope thinks they’re hugging each other a _lot_ more tightly than necessary.

“Come on.” She grabs Pedro’s collar. He whines, and swats at her hand. “We’re leaving.” 

“Why?” he asks, ever curious. She eyes Jade and Josette once again, for a moment too long, and the boy turns around to look as well. He doesn’t see anything and huffs. 

“The game’s done,” she tells him. “And you already got your revenge. Do you feel better?” 

“No,” he says. Hope scowls, thinking that her prank against Gryffindor had also not been as satisfying as she thought it would be. 

The pair end up getting milkshakes at Hogsmeade—chocolate for her and strawberry for him. Hope only allows it because she wants to cheer him up, at least that’s what she tells herself after she orders two more chocolate milkshakes. 

“Where are your friends?” Pedro asks, around a mustache of whipped-cream. 

“They came here earlier,” she says, a similar mustache on her face. He giggles and she wipes it clean with the back of her hand. “They wanted to beat the crowd before the game finished. They’re probably back at Hogwarts already.” 

“I’m sorry that I made you miss them,” he says, looking down, like he truly feels badly about it. 

“Don’t be,” she whispers. She grabs his hand when he doesn’t look up. “Never apologize for something as insignificant as that.” 

“Then when do I apologize?” he asks. 

Hope has the same question, and it seemed that she needed to learn it as well. In fact, she had been itching to apologize to Josette for the entirely of last night and the whole morning. She did not know exactly why, but it seemed like a good plan to make herself better. She wanted to apologize to only make herself feel better, once again, not for Josette, and definitely not because she felt bad. 

“I don’t know.” 

They move onto Gladrags Witch and Wizardwear for muggle clothing after they finish their milkshakes. Hope does not think that she could survive another month of detention added to her two weeks, and forces herself to swallow her pride as she leads them both into the store. Losing all her nights just like _that_ was not worth it. 

She tells Pedro to look around, promising to buy him all his clothes if he can do it in the next five minutes—she really doesn’t want to stay in the store for longer than that. As he runs away, she approaches the familiar shopkeep almost nervously. 

“Excuse me,” she implores, and he gives her his full attention almost immediately. “I was here last weekend, and there was a...jacket, a hoodie I think it was called? Well, I...” 

She cuts herself off anxiously, not wanting to get embarrassed any further. 

“Ah! Yes! I remember!” the man says, and then takes off without another word. As she waits for him to come back, she examines a Slytherin scarf in front of her. It was softer than any one she had ever bought before, and it had a cool emblem that appeared to be hand-stitched. Of course, she herself did not need another scarf, but...

_ “You know, I begged the Sorting hat not to put me in Slytherin. And my parents—they wouldn’t even buy me a spare robe, nevermind a scarf or tie...”  _

Hope stands stricken there, remembering but wishing she could not, unable to hear anything in the store passed Josette’s sobs in the Astronomy tower. She shakes herself out of it, and the shopkeep comes back a minute later with the hoodie and jeans she had tried on. 

She gives him a weird look but chooses not to voice her opinion on how creepy it is that he remembered that. 

“Anything else, Miss?” he asks while ringing her up. She looks around for Pedro, and snaps her fingers at him. He comes nearly jogging, carrying a bunch of items. Hope regrets telling him she’d pay for all of them. 

After Pedro loads everything into a bag, the shopkeep turns to her once again, as if he knew something she could not accept.

“Anything else, Miss?” he repeats. 

Hope hesitates, her fingers twitching wantonly at her sides, before reaching for the scarf. She touches it softly, her eyes falling shut with short memories. Maybe her apology could start here. 

“This, too, please,” she says, and when he tells her the total, she tips him extraordinarily well. 

She makes Pedro carry all the bags except for the one holding the scarf, and they trudge back up to Hogwarts together. He thanks her for a good day and they separate at the common room stairs. While he goes to his dorm, she goes to the Owlery, a room at the top of the West tower that held all of Hogwarts’ owls. 

Once there, she pats the head of her own owl, Marbles. She had not seen him for a while—as Hope Mikaelson never received much mail from home—or even visited him, as she could not face the truth of what that meant. 

“Long time no see,” she tells him, and pretends that he can understand her. She looks around the empty Owlery, her hands almost shaking, before taking the scarf out of her bag. She then neatly folds it into wrapping paper, and scribbles a note at the top after much deliberation. 

_ ** Sorry. ** _

_ ** -HM ** _

When she tells Marbles to deliver it to Josette Saltzman, she pretends she doesn’t stutter over the name, she pretends that the syllables don’t get stuck in her throat, pretends that it doesn’t choke her on the way up. 


	19. Chapter 19

The school mail doesn’t get delivered until Monday, which has Hope turning into an anxious wreck the entire weekend. 

She finishes almost none of her homework on Sunday, and when she plays Exploding Snap with Ethan that night, she nearly singes off her eyebrows in her distraction. 

Monday morning, she waits with bated breath as the students collect into the great hall. She catches Josette sitting with Gryffindor once again, sandwiched inbetween her sister and Jade. She picks almost shyly at her food, her gaze clearly distracted as it settles off into the distance. 

She’s not hungry herself, but Hope also doesn’t touch her own food in fear of the Gryffindors striking back. It had been a long couple of days and the brazen lions had not even retaliated yet, which was strange for something as fast-paced as a prank war. It made Hope nervous. 

What made her absolutely _crazy_, though, was watching Josette knowing that Marbles would deliver the package any second. She regretted buying the girl the scarf with all her heart now, especially since she knew Josette would just throw it back in her face or show her friends and laugh about it. 

If she did that, Hope would have no choice but to pretend that she hadn’t sent it, and the initials HM would immediately mean nothing to her. She might have to change her last name, she was already so humiliated. 

Hope blinks back to reality as a magnificent black owl with white spots—Marbles—soars through the hall. He’s so eye-catching and enormous that some students draw their heads up and stare for a long moment. Hope herself almost looks away, like she can’t bear to witness her inevitable embarrassment. 

“Hey, H, isn’t that your owl?” Rose bumps into her side with a pointy elbow, around a mouthful of waffles. 

“No,” she answers, and the girl raises her eyebrows before going back to eating. 

Josette seems incredibly surprised as the owl lands in front of her, and her friends around her bend their heads in odd angles to get a better look. She quickly unties the string binding the package around the owl’s neck, and strokes his immaculate fur almost absentmindedly as she opens the brown wrapping paper. 

Hope swallows as Josette pauses, her eyes squinting slightly like she’s reading something, before her gaze shoots up and right onto Hope. The pureblood’s blood jolts beneath her skin, and her breath tangles violently in her vocal cords. She forces herself to look away, eyes glued to her empty plate. 

When she looks back up, Josette is storming out of the great hall. She reaches all the way passed the entrance before Hope pulls herself up and swings over the bench. 

“Where are you going?!” Rose yells after her, but she doesn’t respond. 

Her feet carry her swiftly out of the great hall to the corridor outside, her eyes immediately catching the back of the muggleborn’s robes. 

“Saltzman!” she calls, not quite knowing why she’s running after her like a lovesick imbecile. 

The girl stops, and Hope can see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes deeply before turning around. 

“Am I just a game to all of you?” There are tears in her eyes. Hope shakes her head almost desperately. 

“What?” she asks, not exactly in charge of her own voice. She steps forward, and Josette only steps back. 

“Play with the muggleborn, first one to get her to cry wins?” 

“No, I—“ Hope doesn’t get a word in edgewise. 

“I bet you can’t _wait_ to get back to your friends and tell them all about it.” 

“That’s not—“ 

“Did you _really_ think I would fall for this?” She raises the scarf up in her hand, something Hope hadn’t noticed she’d been holding until this moment. Hope shakes her head again. Merlin, this is all going so _wrong_. 

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Mikaelson, but...” the muggleborn trails off, looking up as if trying to make sure the tears gleaming in her eyes won’t fall. She throws the scarf and it hits Hope’s stomach, falling to the floor limply. It weighs next to nothing but Hope feels it like a rock. 

“I’m not...”

“Mikaelson, you forgot your book bag!” Hope turns around at the sound of Penelope’s voice. She freezes at the sight of her. 

“Park—“

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Penelope interrupts, swaggering over with a smirk on her face. Why does Hope feel like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be? 

Penelope coos slightly as comes to a stop five feet away from Josette and right next to Hope. She hands the pureblood her book bag and turns back to Josette. She doesn’t notice the scarf on the floor. 

“Nothing of your concern,” Josette says pointedly, the tears in her eyes gone. Penelope glances at Hope, a silent question in her eyes, _are you handling this? _

Hope nods just barely. 

“Alright,” Penelope says, smirking slightly, her nose upturned in a derisive manner. Hope doesn’t know how she can master sneering and smirking all at once. “I thought I would just say hello.” 

“Well,” the muggleborn born narrows her eyes, frowning. “You’ve said your hello, now go away.” 

“What would be the fun in that?” Penelope smiles wickedly, and Hope can see the tip of her wand pointing out of her sleeve. She needs to disrupt this quickly, or else the three of them might start a duel. Yet, she can’t bring herself to say a word. There’s a reason she wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor. 

“Just leave me alone,” the muggleborn says, not really a request, but Hope thinks she seems defeated. Her eyes sweep over Hope, almost like an afterthought. Hope’s blood runs hot underneath her gaze. “The both of you.” 

The bell rings, and the hallway begins to quickly fill with students. She loses sight of Josette somewhere between the mass of teenagers, and allows the scarf to remain on the floor. It gets buried underneath mindless feet, stepped on and stomped over repeatedly. Hope imagines that the scarf is her heart, because it certainly feels bruised. 

She misses Josette in both Potions and Transfiguration, but the girl makes an appearance in Arithmancy. She steadily avoids Hope’s constant glances, though, and after a little while, Hope tries to pretend that the muggleborn doesn’t exist as well. 

“What did you get for the last problem?” William murmurs to her while Professor Vector is teaching. She does not even hear him. 

By the end of the day, Hope is definitely not looking forward to detention. She’ll be sharing it with much of her friends, but that does nothing to make her feel better about it. 

She, Ethan, Maya, and Penelope arrive to Slughorn’s classroom together. When they get there, Hope quickly notices that most of the other sixth-year Slytherins are there. There’s only two people from any other houses waiting outside the classroom—Rafael Waithe and Milton Greasley. Hope doesn’t immediately understand why they’re here, but she doesn’t really care. They’re both talking to Josette, who looks up slightly when Hope and her friends come into eyesight. 

“Come in, come in.” The door swings open, and Slughorn ushers them all inside. He tells everyone to sit down, and Hope eyes her usual spot with Josie before moving to the back. 

“Right...” He looks over all of them nervously, small beads of sweat on his face. “Your detention will last an hour. Your punishment is to sit here in silence and think about exactly why you’ve found yourselves in this position. I will not be here, but do not think that that means you can fool around. This—“ 

He raises a crystal cylinder, setting it on his desk. “—Will notify me if the room’s volume exceeds a certain level. If you feel the need to talk, I suggest you keep your voices to a mere whisper. If not, you will leave me no choice but to assign more detentions.” 

Hope thinks it’s weird that he just told them how to get away with talking, but she definitely doesn’t mind. Slughorn gives them another last hurried, anxious glance before leaving. She misses the way his eyes linger on herself and Josette specifically. 

There’s about a second of silence after he leaves before the room breaks out in small whispers. Some people choose not to talk, carefully watching the crystal cylinder in front of them. Hope is one of them, her eyes catching the way the cylinder fills with water, reaching the top but not spilling over as people continue to talk. 

Sebastian sits next to her, doing the same, but she can’t ignore the glaring looks he’s sending to Milton Greasley every once in a while. Hope doesn’t mention anything to him or question it, since she’s doing the same to Josette. 

Ethan is also silent, having no energy to talk to anyone at night if it’s not to flirt with Rose. She watches as Penelope and Maya banter about one thing or another, before turning her attention to somewhere else. 

“You guys really didn’t have to do this for me,” Hope overhears from the muggleborn. 

“And what? Leave you to the _snakes_? Of course we had to,” Milton tells her, smiling crookedly. Hope wonders if he thinks he’s charming. 

“Getting detention was a little over the top, though,” Josette says, her cheeks pinking. 

“Anything to protect you, Princess,” Rafael chimes in. His voice is too soft, and it irritates Hope. Merlin, did everyone the girl talk to just fall in love with her? It was starting to get ridiculous. 

And did they seriously get detention just so she wouldn’t have to be here alone? They had to be either terribly stupid or painfully loyal, and the girl had only been here for about two and a half weeks. Hope thinks it must be the former option. What kind of pet name was _Princess_, anyways? 

At one point, twenty minutes later, Milton accidentally glances in their direction and catches one of Sebastian’s menacing stares. 

“What are you looking at?” the Slytherin hisses, sitting up in his chair. 

“Nothing impressive,” Milton replies easily, a confidence Hope had never seen before. It did not suit him. 

Sebastian stands up so quickly his chair scrapes against the ugly flooring. The room quiets as the two of them exchange a heated look. Hope deeply wonders why the pair was suddenly so hateful towards each other. She chalks it off to Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry. 

“What did you just say?” Sebastian spits dangerously. Hope eyes the magic cylinder absentmindedly. 

“I said,” Milton breathes, standing up as well, “you’re nothing impressive.” 

A pause stands between them both before Sebastian’s face contorts with even more aggression. 

“You’re going to regret saying that, you dirty little blood traitor—“ The next thing Hope knows, Sebastian’s running at Milton and the two of them fall to the floor as he tackles him. He brings his fist back and hits the other boy three times across the temple. Blood spurts down the Gryffindor’s mouth and nose, painting the Slytherin’s knuckles bright red. 

Ethan and Hope react first, standing up and pulling Sebastian’s left and right arms back. They bring him up to a stand and tightly grip his elbows as he tries to lunge again. The cylinder spills with water, flooding the desk around it. 

Josette restrains Milton herself, grabbing him by the back of his robe and wrapping her arms underneath his own and around his waist. Rafael stands up, too, pushing him back with his hands against his chest. 

“Do you want some of this? Huh?” the boy yells foolishly, and Hope rolls her eyes. She wants to comment that Sebastian already _got_ some of that, as Milton’s blood is still streaking the floor in small spots. 

Sebastian himself struggles again her own hold, but he doesn’t dignify the bait with a reply. Milton does the same in Josette’s and she tries to calm him down. She looks at Hope when she says, “It’s not worth it.” 

_No_, Hope thinks, her eyes meeting the muggleborn’s. _It isn’t. _


	20. Chapter 20

“What the hell was that about?” Hope hisses, sitting across from Sebastian on the common room couch. 

Professor Slughorn walked into the fight a second later and had handed half of them detention slips, threatening suspension to the other half. He had then asked Josette and Rafael to take Milton to the hospital wing to fix his unusually bent nose and his probable concussion, leaving the rest of the Slytherins to sit there for another half an hour.   


Hope doesn’t know why he needed both Rafael and Josette to escort him, or why the idiotic boy couldn’t just go by himself. 

“Did you _have_ to hit him? I mean, are you a wizard or not?” Maya adds, practically seething because she received another day of detention even though she hadn’t done anything. Sebastian crosses his arms childishly. 

“He wronged me,” he declares, glaring at the floor. Hope rolls her eyes. 

“He barely _looked_ at you, Pyre,” she tells him. 

“Well, he was _thinking_ of wronging me!” he insists dramatically, his accent thick to the point where they all can barely understand him. 

“C’mon, mate, let’s just get you to bed.” Ethan clads a hand on his shoulder and the two of them walk upstairs to the dorms, leaving the girls behind to gossip. 

“Did I really miss so much?” Rose groans. 

“Let me just say,” Maya leans in, her eyes sparkling, “he kicked that Gryffindor’s ass.” 

“Damn!” Rose looks upset that she didn’t see it herself. “Can you guys reenact it or something? I’ve been doing nothing but _homework_ the entire night.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Maya agrees, standing up. “Get up, Pen.” 

Penelope huffs and swings her leg over the couch she’s laying on. 

“Okay, I’ll be Seb,” Maya says, clearing her throat and pounding her fist into her palm as she tries to get into character.

“Why do I have to be the blood traitor?” Penelope whines, and Hope chuckles darkly. 

“Okay, so first he punched him like this—“

“No,” Hope interrupts. They look at her, expecting their fun will about to be ruined. “First he tackled him, remember?” 

“Oh, right!” Maya says, resuming. “Okay, so first he threw Greasley onto the floor—“ 

The common room door swings open, and Josette Saltzman herself comes walking in quickly but Maya and Penelope don’t stop talking. 

She pauses, looks at them, and Hope sees the exact moment she realizes what they’re doing. She shakes her head in disbelief and swiftly rises up the stairs. 

Hope becomes irritated with herself for falling back into old, disgusting habits. She watches the muggleborn until she disappears back into the hallway, and when she looks back to her friends, Rose is staring at her with furrowed eyebrows and curious eyes. 

Penelope and Maya don’t realize that Rose has stopped paying attention yet, and Hope hastily turns away. She murmurs something about going to bed as well before she leaves, too. 

—

The Gryffindors strike back in the morning for the prank war, but Hope doesn’t immediately notice anything wrong. She eats breakfast and talks to her friends like normal, and then goes to her regular Potions class. 

As per usual, she comes in a half-second before the bell rings, and sits down without glancing once at Josette, despite desperately wanting to. Today, the tables are set up in groups of four, so Hope knows that they’ll be having a competition of some sort. 

“Good morning, all,” Professor Slughorn starts, “we have spent the past couple of days becoming familiar with the Dreamless Sleep draught. Today, we will see who can brew it best.” 

The class sits up straighter, knowing that there will definitely be a trophy or something to bait them into participating. 

“Our allotted time is sixty minutes. Whoever concocts a textbook version of the potion first will be rewarded greatly,” he finishes. He looks around the room, nodding to a Ravenclaw boy behind Hope who’s raising his hand. 

“What’s the reward, sir?” he asks, as if trying to decide whether or not working hard will be worth it. 

Slughorn raises his finger, sticking his hand far into the pocket of his robe. The class leans forward in anticipation. He takes out a small vial, filled with molten-golden liquid. 

“Can anyone recognize this potion by the color?” he asks, waving it around for everyone to see. Josette next to her raises her hand. 

“Felix Felicis,” she says. “Otherwise known as liquid luck.” Some people in the classroom murmur as she says it, and Slughorn nods. 

“Yes! Five points to Slytherin,” he praises, before his tone becomes stern. “The winner will receive this small vial, but they may not use it for any sports or anything malicious. Do not attempt to brew this yourself, as doing it incorrectly can be highly disastrous, and drinking it in large portions can cause recklessness and impulsivity.” 

He places the vial on a stand at the front of the room, and then wanders around his desk. 

“Now, back to your Dreamless Sleep Potions. If you feel as though you are done  before the timer, please notify me. If not, when the time is over, I will pick the one most similar to perfection.”

Hope raises her hand and opens her mouth ashe points on her. 

What she hears is: “Do you want us to leave the potion in our cauldron when we’re done or bottle it?” 

What everyone else hears is: “Do you want to have sex with me tonight?” 

A pin could have dropped and the entire class of students would have heard it. Josette’s head whips in her direction as if she’s just said something of the utmost insanity, and the class breaks out into viciously loud laughter after recovering from what appears to be shock. Professor Slughorn stands red-faced and spluttering. 

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mikaelson?” She frowns. “That is completely intolerable and inappropriate behavior! Thirty points from Slytherin! You will see me tonight at eight o’clock promptly.” 

The class snickers again at his choice of words, and Hope doesn’t understand why. 

Maybe he misheard her. She opens her mouth to tell him once again. “I _said_, ‘Do you want to have sex with me tonight?’” 

And, once again, Slughorn removes thirty points from her house. Josette throws her head forward in laughter and Hope narrows her eyes suspiciously as she looks at the other girl. To everyone else, it appears as though she’s checking out the muggleborn. “What’s so funny, Saltzman?” 

Again, what comes out: “Do _you_ want to have sex with me, Saltzman?” 

Josette pinks before glancing away as the students around them begin to laugh at her expense as well. 

She hears the harsh rake of a chair against flooring and turns around to see Rose stomping towards her. She clamps a hand over Hope’s mouth and pulls her up and out of the chair. 

“Mhmm—agnh, _hmph_!” 

“Excuse us, Professor,” Rose says, and drags Hope by the ear outside of the classroom. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hope raises her eyebrows, opens her mouth, and asks Rose if she wants to have sex with her. 

“Stop!” Rose tells her, and Hope shuts her mouth even though she doesn’t know why. “You keep asking everyone to have sex with you.” 

Suddenly, it made sense as to why Slughorn had taken away sixty hard-earned house points. Merlin, did that mean she had propositioned Josette as well? Her face loses all color. 

“Okay, you’ve obviously been jinxed or something,” Rose states, glancing nervously around as if trying to figure something out.   


Hope knows right away that this is all part of the prank war. She has no idea why she’s the target, however, and she can’t pinpoint exactly when she’d been spelled.   


“Jinxes don’t last for very long, so you should be fine in a couple of hours,” Rose tells her. “For right now, though, we’re going to go back in, and you’re not going to say _another_ word.” 

“But—“ 

  
Rose only hears another request for sex. “What did I _just_ say?”

Hope scowls and shuts her mouth. She was going to have to trust the other girl. When they come back into the classroom, everyone stops to stare at them. A Ravenclaw boy even drops an extra ingredient into his potion, causing it to blow up in his face. 

Rose whispers something to Slughorn before the man nods at the both of them, and grants them the lost house points. Hope tries her best not to speak as she sits down, taking out her cauldron and putting on the heat. She really needs the Felix Felicis potion, and although she was behind, she knew she could catch up. 

Her mind runs on autopilot as she adds all her ingredients in at the right time and stirs counterclockwise correctly. She shifts the temperature underneath the cauldron when she needs to, and her potion quickly reaches a perfect violet color. She pours it into a flask and sets it aside.

“Time’s up!” 

Slughorn begins to walk leisurely around the classroom, looking into cauldrons and making small comments here and there. 

“No, that won’t do,” he tuts, his face etched with disgust as he peers into Penelope’s cauldron. Inside is a thick, black, slimy liquid. Penelope falls back into her seat defeated as Rose receives praise. 

“Well done, Miss Nicot!” he tells her. 

Hope holds her breath as Slughorn approaches her own table. He lifts her potion up and smiles. 

“Near perfect!” He sounds gleefully excited. Hope wants to reach over her table and strangle him. He says the exact same thing about Josette’s potion and then moves on. 

The entire class observes him carefully as he claps his hands together and comes to stand in front of the class. 

“It appears as though we have two potions of equal, flawless quality. Congratulations to Miss Mikaelson—“

  
Hope smirks.

“And Miss Saltzman.”   


Hope’s smirk falls off her face as the other girl nearly jumps out of her chair in delight. They both stand up to receive their prize from Slughorn. 

Josette thanks the man as he gives it to her, and Hope smartly keeps her mouth closed. They walk back to their desks, and the muggleborn glances in her direction as she shoves her reward into her bag. 

“Congratulations,” Josette taunts, terribly snidely, and—forgetting herself—Hope opens her mouth to deliver a cruel retort. 

She sneers and yells, “Have sex with me!” 

The bell rings, and Josette laughs in her face. Hope almost boils. “Maybe some other time.” 

She bristles as the girl leaves, wanting to cut off her own tongue. She feels humiliated, and ponders downing the Felix Filicis potion right then and there to make this day any better at all. 

Rose meets her at the door, and she shakes the other girl’s shoulders, begging, “_Obliviate_ me!” 

“No, I will not have sex with you, Hope.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obliviate: to remove memory of


	21. Chapter 21

The jinx wears off at dinner, but she pretends that she’s still affected until well after detention just so she doesn’t have to talk to anyone in Slughorn’s classroom. 

She was humiliated, and Hope Mikaelson would never dare to show it, but she truly felt like shriveling up and handing herself to the giant squid in the Great Lake. She still could not forget the way students had whispered scandalously in her direction during lunch and dinner. The Gryffindor table could not stop roaring of laughter, of course, and every couple of minutes Hope would catch Josette whispering something to Jade while she glanced at Hope. 

Hope knew she was talking about the pureblood—she knew everyone was talking about the way she had asked a professor and than a muggleborn student to sleep with her not _two_ minutes apart. 

_ “Maybe some other time.”  _

It was like the muggleborn had known _exactly_ what to say to get on Hope’s last nerve, and she had delivered it so coolly and effortlessly—almost as if she had prepared the words beforehand—like Hope meant nothing at all. It dug underneath the pureblood’s skin, incessantly, like a bug she could not trace. 

Speaking of trace, she would perform a tracing spell as soon as possible to see who had jinxed her. 

Hope hurries to her room after detention, and her friends follow her there to perform the spell. They gather around her bed and she sits cross-legged in the middle of it. Hope then transfigures the tip of her wand to the sharp point of a knife and slits her hand, watching as blood gently oozes out. It stings just enough to wince but she doesn’t, and Rose mutters the incantation as Penelope and Maya watch. 

Most tracing spells require blood magic, or at least the simple ones did, so it comes to no surprise to anyone at all that Hope had slit her own hand to perform it. They wait with nervous anticipation as two words form faintly in the air—

_ ** Elizabeth Saltzman.  ** _

“That bitch,” Hope curses, murmuring a healing spell to close the wound on her hand. She tries to appear angry, but feels hurt. Had Josette _known_? 

“It probably isn’t personal,” Rose tells her, patting her shoulder as she gets off of Maya’s bed. “You know how these prank wars get, they always end up going after you.” 

It was true. Hope had always been the figurehead for Slytherin, and that had made her a target these past years. It had also made her smarter, but she had dropped her guard in the last couple of days, just enough that Elizabeth had been able to jinx her without Hope noticing. And Hope could not help but think the reason was because of the way she had treated Josette. 

“It is.” 

—

The next day finds Hope in the library, hiding behind a bookshelf during her lunch period. She had been there for about half an hour already, watching as Elizabeth Saltzman worked on an extensive homework assignment, her textbook open and surrounded by school materials. The Gryffindor had filled out almost four pieces of parchment paper with words, and Hope thinks that she’s maybe working on an essay. 

It was only going to make the stunt Hope pulled that much sweeter. 

She waits for the Gryffindor to complete her work before doing anything. And, about ten minutes later, Elizabeth stands as if to pack up. Hope focuses her wand and points directly at her homework. 

“Incendio,” she whispers, and the papers begin to set on fire. Elizabeth nearly screams and Hope has to choke down her laughter as the muggleborn forgets she’s a witch and uses her hands to extinguish the flames. 

A minute later, the Gryffindor’s entire essay has been destroyed, and Hope leaves her spot and goes for the exit, making sure that Elizabeth will see her on the way there. 

Sure enough, she does. Her eyes narrow and Hope can see that she’s absolutely livid. 

“What is your _problem_?!” she yells, only to be hushed by the librarian. Hope ignores her, just raising an eyebrow and continuing to walk away. Elizabeth follows her and pulls her back by her arm. The pureblood glances around and sees that they have an audience. She remembers that she had a reputation to uphold, and being nice to muggleborns had never ended good for her. 

Hope recoils as if she’s been burned, mostly for show. “Don’t touch me, you filthy—“ 

“Little mudblood?” Elizabeth finishes for her, and Hope looks away. “We’ve all heard _that_ one before, Mikaelson. It doesn’t explain why the hell you just set my essay on fire!” 

“I left you your textbook so you can start over,” Hope merely states, smirking. The blonde’s eyes nearly glow red in anger. “Next time I won’t be so kind.” 

Hope leaves with the other girl basically consumed in madness. Good. She had certainly made a first impression to remember, and hopefully, Elizabeth would never mess with her again. 

—

“You should have seen the look on her face,” Hope tells Ethan during the Herbology period after. He laughs. 

“Do you think she’ll try to get you back?” 

“Not if she knows what’s good for her.” Hope smirks with nothing behind it, and when she glances over to Sebastian, she notices that his hands are shaking. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks him. He looks at her and smiles without his eyes. His hands still. 

“Nothing at all.” 

The three of them make the long trip to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom leisurely,with Sebastian oddly silent. 

Hope did not do anything about it, because the two were hardly friends. At least, that’s what she tells herself to quell the guilt. 

Although it was not a short walk, they arrive to class fairly early. Elizabeth Saltzman glares at the pureblood openly as she comes in the door, and Hope pretends not to notice. 

She sits down at her usual seat, and Maya stands up in front of her. The two of them make small talk for a little while, until Hope becomes terribly distracted.

Josette comes in a little while after Hope with Jade. The two walk slowly to Josette’s desk, pausing and stalling like they want to stay forever frozen in time. Hope feels sick to her stomach. Her saliva becomes cloying and obnoxious in her mouth, begging her to throw up. She barely manages to keep her stomach contents down as the two continue to annoyingly flirt. 

“So...I was wondering...um...” Josette takes a deep breath. Hope wishes she could slam her head against the table. “It doesn’t have to _mean_ anything, but...do you want to come with me to Slughorn’s dinner party?” 

Maya makes a teasing gagging noise—clearly overhearing the situation as well—and Hope attempts a laugh that sounds like a wretch. Why did this have to happen directly next to her? Was there really no better time?

When Jade doesn’t reply, Josette begins to babble. “We can just go as _friends_, we don’t—we don’t _have_ to...” 

“Jo, I would love to go with you,” Jade tells her, a true Gryffindor at heart, and Hope chokes on vomit. 

“Find your seats, please!” Snape snaps as he strolls into the classroom, eyeing Jade and Josette, the only two still standing. Josette blushes and quickly sits down. Jade parts with a wave and does the same. 

“It has only been a couple of days of trying to conjure your patronuses, but I have seen great progress from some of you,” he looks over the Gryffindor students. Hope knows he’s thinking particularly of Josette. “From _others_ of you, I am truly disappointed.” 

He makes eye contact with Hope when he says it, and she knows that he’s talking about the Slytherin students, who are distinctly struggling. Not one of them has produced a single whisp of white. 

“Hopefully, today we can see a vast improvement.” He points his wand at the shutters and light streams into the room. “Right to it, please!” 

The chairs and tables float to the back of the room again and Hope tries to immerse herself into another memory. 

_ It’s her second year at Hogwarts. Her friends are all gathered at the Slytherin table in the great hall, trying to hang out just before winter break comes and takes all of them with it. The hall is decorated with wreaths and elaborate lights and ornaments. Hope chews absentmindedly on a chocolate frog.  _

_ For the first time, she truly feels like this is her second home. It’s only morning, but she thinks this is about to be a great day.  _

_ Her friends are trying out various different candies. A Bernie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans’ wrapper lies crinkled in Ethan’s hand. He takes out a light green jelly bean.  _

_ “I bet it’s lime,” he says, excited. Hope finds herself growing fond of him. They’ve all only been friends for a small while but she can see herself loving them for the rest of her life.  _

_ “It’s got to be apple,” Maya disagrees, shaking her head.  _

_ “Mint chocolate?” Rose guesses, unsure. They all laugh at her terrible prediction.  _

_ “Green pepper,” Hope says, when they look at her expectantly. Penelope elects not to guess at all, staring at a blonde Slytherin student somewhere distantly.  _

_ He puts it in his mouth and smiles. A second later, his face scrunches up like he’s just tasted something unpleasant and runs to the bathroom screaming, “Booger!”  _

_ Hope throws her head back and laughs so hard her stomach hurts. She feels like she’s always going to be happy, and that nothing wrong will ever happen as long as she’s with her friends. She takes another bite of her chocolate, the taste sitting delightfully in her mouth.  _

_ Just then, an owl flies over their head, delivering mail. The Daily Prophet lands in front of her, thick and bundled by a piece of string.  _

_ Her eyes catch the cover. A large photo of her father lies at the top, the headline reading, “Niklaus Mikaelson Trial Verdict: Innocent!”  _

_ She chokes on her chocolate frog.  _

Hope’s wand burns in her hand, and she shoves it away, nausea overtaking her once again. She leans back and tries to take a deep breath. Closing her eyes does nothing but remind her of the patronus she can’t conjure. 

She finds a sweet diversion in Josette Saltzman. 

“Expecto Patronum,” the girl says fiercely, and large, white beams of light cast from her wand. They form a shield in front of her, and she holds it for several long seconds. The blue-white glow sets an enthralling shine on the muggleborn, who positively glimmers underneath it. Hope looks around and finds that many of the other people in class are also watching her. 

“Well done, Miss Saltzman,” Snape approves from the front of his room. “That is a compelling example of a strong noncorporeal patronus. Twenty points to Slytherin. Very impressive, indeed.” 

When the class finishes, Hope excuses herself from her friends and walks calmly to the nearest bathroom. She throws up everything inside her—tasting green jelly beans and vile jealousy like stomach acid—flushes the toilet, and washes her hands like nothing happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incendio: sets object on fire


	22. Chapter 22

Hope goes to sleep late on Wednesday night and wakes up late on Thursday morning, too. She glances at her clock and startles out of bed fast enough that she makes it to breakfast on time. 

As she walks through the great hall’s entrance, she feels a tug at the back of her head. She raises a hand to her hair but ignores the weird feeling when she doesn’t feel a bump, finding her friends all sitting together and eating. Ethan spits out his pumpkin juice when he sees her. 

“_Whoa_, what’s with the new hairstyle?” Penelope asks, her eyebrows raising to her hairline. Ethan nods as if to emphasize her point. Hope frowns, not knowing what they’re getting at. 

“What new hairstyle?” 

Maya nearly swoons when she sees Hope, her eyes becoming heavy-lidded. 

“Mikaelson, is this for _me_?” she gasps, attracting the attention of some students around them, who look up at Hope and stare wildly in shock. The pureblood sits down, wondering if she’s still talking weird or if everyone else is just acting like it. “You _know_ how much I _love_ blondes.” 

“I’m not blonde,” Hope tells her with a scowl, grabbing a polished plate and holding it up like a mirror. What she finds staring back at her almost causes her to scream. 

Her hair was light yellow, so pristinely blonde it was nearly white. It was such a unique type of hair color that it automatically reminds her exactly of—

She swivels her head in the direction of the Gryffindor table, finding Elizabeth Saltzman staring back with a victorious smirk on her face. As she and her friends notice the panicked look on Hope’s face, they erupt into boisterous sniggering. 

Satisfied with herself, Elizabeth brings her cup of water up to her lips, as if saluting Hope. Thinking quickly, Hope’s hand moves underneath the table, transfiguring the water into mud. It’s one of the easiest Transfiguration spells she knows, and it was so easy that she’s able to perform it nonverbally and without a wand. 

For a hot second, Hope thinks that she messed up the spell, but a second later Elizabeth is choking and spluttering mud. She makes such a mess of herself that even her beloved Milton Greasley looks away in disgust. 

Josette next to Elizabeth holds up her book bag for protection as her sister continues to cough. Hope chuckles out loud, causing her friends to look away from her hair and to what she’s laughing at. 

“Was that you?” Penelope asks, hiding a laugh behind a fork of food. Hope nods almost imperceptibly. “_Fitting_. _Mud_ for a _mud_blood.” 

She laughs again at the little joke she’s created, and Hope tries to smile, but her face feels much too hot. A grimace splits her lips instead, and she looks down at her plate, suddenly not feeling well. She wants to tell Penelope that that was not how she meant it, but cowardice is a monster that knows her far too well. 

To make her feel worse, Rose pins her with a inquisitive look, almost disappointed. But that can’t be right. Shouldn’t she have been _proud_ of her? 

After breakfast, Hope skips her first period and goes to the school’s infirmary. She pettily insists that Madame Pomfrey fixes her hair at once. 

“Out of my hospital wing _now_!” Pomfrey shoos her away. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you.” 

“My hair is blonde.” Hope stands firmly. “_Surely_ that must imply _some_ level of illness.” 

Pomfrey huffs and runs a diagnostic charm on her just to get her to leave. “It appears that you’ve been bewitched with a glamor spell. They usually last for a couple of hours. You should be fine. Now, _out_!” 

“Can’t you fix it now?” Hope whines, glowering. Was Pomfrey really so useless? 

“No, and, if you would excuse me, I _must_ attend to other patrons,” Pomfrey says, and leaves to her room. 

“There’s no one else here!” Hope calls after her, to no answer. She mutters underneath her breath, irritated. “Good for nothing witch...” 

During second period, she can feel the entire class’ eyes on her. When she turns around to glare at all of them, they quickly look away and back to McGonagall’s lecture as if they hadn’t been staring to begin with. 

“Must you be so awful?” Josette tells her at one point, when Hope threatens the Ravenclaw behind her for whispering to his friend while glancing at the pureblood. “You only did this to yourself.” 

“I...it’s not my fault your sister’s a lunatic,” she says, feeling a strange lump in her throat. Although it had only really been a day, she felt as though she hadn’t talked to Josette in ages. Like she’s almost forgotten how to. At least, it seems so hard now. She could never figure out whether they hated each other or merely tolerated one another. It was a fine line. 

“My sister?” Josette hisses on a whisper, nearly directly into her ear. Hope shivers, goosebumps erupting across her neck. She tries not to flinch away, feeling like her nerves were on fire. “_My sister_ has been coughing up mud _all_ morning. I had to spend the last hour cleaning up after her because of your foolish antics.” 

“She started it!” She shuts her mouth as McGonagall sternly peers in their direction before resuming her lesson. Hope reminds herself to be quiet. It won’t do any good to lose her temper and embarrass herself any more than she already has. 

Josette doesn’t reply for a long enough time that Hope thinks they’re done talking. Until—

“No,” the muggleborn whispers, like she’s almost...ashamed? “_I_ did.” 

Hope furrows her eyebrows. “What—“ She swallows thickly. “What do you mean?” 

“I cast that first spell on you. I used Lizzie’s wand so you couldn’t trace it back to me,” she confesses, slowly, like she can’t believe it herself. Hope stammers in awe. The other girl had seemed so surprised the other day; how was it possible? It would explain how she didn’t notice sooner, however. 

“That, that’s pure...” 

“Evil?” Josette looks down in guilt. Hope no longer pretends that she’s trying to pay attention to the lesson. She tilts her head to hear the rest. “I know.” 

“No,” Hope corrects her quickly, smiling slightly. Her heart thuds too quickly beneath her chest. She does not know what she’s doing. “I was going to say _Slytherin_.” 

Josette peeks up at the last word, her teeth worrying her bottom lip before drawing into a smile. Her lips glisten red with the previous attention, and Hope falters as she glances down towards them and back up into curious eyes. She leans in only barely, almost as if she’s in a trance. Her own lips begin to quiver so noticeably that she backs away with fear, remembering herself. Josette blushes and does the same, remembering herself as well. 

They both look away, each wondering what the other was thinking. 


	23. Chapter 23

Thursday night finds the professors of Hogwarts convening in the Forbidden Forest. They all have their thickest robes on, some shivering from the cold. 

Others grumble as to what they’re doing in the middle of the forest instead of their usual meeting spot in Dumbledore’s office. Nevertheless, they follow the old man as he walks calmly through the eerie environment. 

After a short trek, Dumbldore suddenly stops and turns to them. 

“I understand that you are all probably wondering as to what we are doing here,” he sympathizes, pausing as if waiting for something. He hears nothing and continues. “Indeed, we are waiting for the leader of the centaurs. He wishes to discuss matters of the prophecy with all of us.” 

In seconds, the staff begins to hear the harsh sound of hoof beats against the ground. Many take out their wands in fright, but Dumbledore signals them to put the magical sticks away. 

“Ahh. Firenze!” he greets warmly as a large centaur comes trotting in followed by others. The half-man, half-horse welcomes the headmaster kindly to his forest, to which the old man makes a comment about the weather. 

“I am afraid we have more important affairs to discuss than the rain, which—I confess—has not let up for several weeks,” Firenze says solemnly. Dumbledore gestures for him to continue. “The Forest is barren now. It knows no life or death. The sun does not shine—the moon does not gleam. Flowers hold no beauty, the sky has no color. Spirits and ghosts do not wander along the trees any longer. I admit, I cannot say for certain whether the creatures of this forest still reside here. If so, they are hiding, somewhere of which I cannot uncover.

“The only sign of any activity whatsoever is a a single spark of fire that lies directly in the middle of this land. Sometimes...sometimes...” 

“It’s okay, Firenze,” Dumbledore tells him kindly. “Go on if you can. Say nothing if you must.” 

Firenze nods, his large, naked chest filling with a heavy breath. 

“Sometimes I see shapes in the flames of which this fire ignites. Shapes, like magical animals. There are two of them—one forms a mighty dragon, the other, an enormous wolf. They are equal in size, and one does not transcend the other.” He takes another deep breath, as if trying to muster the strength to proceed. “At first glance, these animals appear as though they are fighting. The wolf bites the tail of the dragon, and the dragon breathes fire at the wolf. Yet, take a deeper look, and I _swear_ they are almost _dancing_, my friend!” 

He stumbles over his words in subdued excitement as he speaks. His people make small murmurs of agreement behind him. 

“Can you describe this dance?” Dumbledore inquires, completely vexed. Firenze knits his eyebrows together. 

“I cannot do it enough justice, but if I _were_ to try...” He thinks for a long moment. He had always been the type of centaur who liked to have his way with words. “I would say it was like they were moving in circles. One step forward, two steps back, not anything more, not anything less.” 

Dumbledore looks off into the distance as the centaur concludes. “Thank you very much, Firenze. I will keep our conversation in mind, and I will get back to you as soon as possible with a solution, if it should _ever_ come to me at all.” 

Firenze thanks him as well before galloping off into the distance with his companions. Dumbledore turns to his staff once again. He finds half of them in a daze, their thoughts still plagued by the centaur’s words. 

“While I am more than aware that we are all deeply perplexed by this turn of events,” Dumbledore starts. “I will not allow any of you to discuss it until the morning. We cannot begin to analyze something we have no knowledge in. Furthermore, it is growing late already. We _mustn’t_ waste time.” 

His eyes catch a bald head. “Horace, I did not expect you here, for one.” 

“I cancelled the girls’ detention for tonight. ‘Figured we could all use a break,” he says nervously. 

“Well enough,” Dumbledore agrees. “You may start, then.” 

It was time for their weekly discussion. 

“Er,” the plump man begins, growing red. He was eager to give any good news at all. “Miss Mikaelson asked Miss Saltzman to engage in intimate fornication?” 

He did not bring up how Miss Mikaelson had proposed the same to him. 

“Is that a _question_, Horace?” Blue eyes twinkle in amusement. 

“Well, Miss Mikaelson was underneath a spell. So, I confess, we cannot really celebrate her actions. However, the pair have both agreed to come to my dinner party on Saturday.” He smiles nervously. 

“Great news!” A genuine smile reaches Dumbledore’s face. “Are they going with each other?” 

Professor Snape laughs out loud at that, unable to control himself. 

“Severus?” the headmaster prompts, and Snape realizes that he’s being serious. 

“Forgive me, Albus, I thought you were talking in jest,” the Defense Professor says. “Miss Saltzman asked Miss Montgomery—you know, the blonde sixth-year in Gryffindor—“ 

Dumbledore nods. 

“—to accompany her to the party. Miss Mikaelson herself invited Miss Machado.” 

“Oh, no.” Dumbledore sighs. “This _won’t_ do.” 

He rubs his hands together, his stiff shoulders relaxing. “I _see_. How can we go about removing them from attendance?” 

—

It was her last class of the afternoon for Friday, and Hope Mikaelson was feeling good. She had worn her muggle clothes the entire day, and it felt absolutely amazing. They had not once caused her to trip over her feet like her long robes often did, and she found that they allowed her to move freely as well. What made her even more comfortable, was the fact that Elizabeth Saltzman had not tried to prank her again at all. To add, she did not have a single argument with Josette the entire day. 

Potions class had passed quickly and efficiently, and despite Josette’s obvious surprise at seeing the other girl in muggle clothes, she had said nothing at all. 

The rest of her friends had also done away with their pride and had worn muggle clothes, except for Penelope. She had received a month of detention the _moment_ she had stepped through Slughorn’s classroom. 

Penelope had then acted like she didn’t care, but Hope knew that she had regretted it on a deeper level she felt she couldn’t show. 

It was now Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and Hope was honestly looking forward to it. She arrives exactly at the bell and sits down. This time, perhaps heeding Snape’s warning, Jade and Josette separate at the door instead of flirting by Josette’s desk. 

The muggleborn sits down next to Hope and begins laughing. Hope sends her a weird look, causing the girl to wave her hands in front of her face and attempt to stop. 

“I’m _sorry_,” she giggles, not _truly_ sorry, and Hope finds herself not hating the sound. It actually feels quite nice, to hear it, she thinks. “It’s just...your _clothes_!” 

Hope leans back, slightly offended. She had thought she looked good. Had she just been humiliating herself the whole day? Merlin...

Hope’s a second away from swearing that she won’t ever wear muggle clothes again—uncaring about any detentions she gains—until Josette starts to explain. 

“You’re not supposed to wear the price tag,” she says, between laughs, “and you need to take the size sticker off your jeans.”

“What?” Hope sucks in a breath, glancing at her jeans. She wonders if she should tear off the sticker now or later. “I thought that was part of the design.” 

That only serves to make Josette laugh harder. Hope rolls her eyes and tugs off the sticker, trying not to stare at the happy look in Josette’s eyes. She had honestly thought it was a part of the jeans. She throws the sticker on the floor and reaches around for a price tag, but can’t find it. 

“Here.” Josette’s giggles cease after a long moment of teasing and Hope only frowning at her in return, and moves forward with her hand. Hope watches in slow motion as she bends over and reaches for something next to Hope’s head. She then pulls and rips the price tag smoothly out, laying it out on the desk. 

Hope gulps messily, her throat feeling sore where it hadn’t before. She feels an almost animalistic urge to drink water—her mouth is so dry. There, Josette was, showing her compassion whenever Hope was just anything less than rude and vile. She had always matched Hope’s energy, it seemed. When Hope had been cruel, Josette would harden herself to do the same. If Hope chose not to be, Josette did as well. 

Yet, she feels angry. 

The mean, awful side to Hope Mikaelson wants to tell Josette to never try that again, wants to leave in fear that her classmates were watching their exchange, wants to run away—scared that her father will find out and disown her. 

She stays silent, feeling the need to say something terrible to even out the pleasant thrumming just beneath her skin. “You allowed me to walk around all day _knowing_ this?” 

Her voices sounds nagging and miserable to her own ears, and she watches Josette’s eyes narrow. 

“Well,” she says, pouty lips forming a frown. “You saunter around like you own the place so much, I thought it might do some good.” 

Hope only sneers and turns away, the arrival of the teacher stopping her from saying something equally hostile. She longs for time to freeze and turn back to moments ago, when Josette had laughed something delightful, and Hope had watched blankly, yet completely delighted. 

Snape gives them a similar speech to the one he gave the day before and moves everything out of the way again, telling them to focus and resume practicing their patronuses. 

It’s a Friday, however, and the students are all too observant to the fact that the weekend—and Halloween with it—was soon approaching. They begin to gravitate to each other and ignore the lesson plan, but Hope thinks that Snape doesn’t seem to mind, since he doesn’t interfere once. 

So, after seeing Snape repeatedly do nothing about the fact that no one’s doing any work, she leaves Josette and starts a small conversation with Maya and Penelope. A couple of minutes later, she sees Josette wandering off as well. The muggleborn finds a spot next to Jade and they talk, too. Snape only watches as friends migrate to other friends, and the class splits up with Gryffindors and Josette on one side, and Slytherins on the other side. 

Hope originally tries to maintain her discussion about quidditch teams with her friends, but after a little while, finds her mind preoccupied. She turns her head just enough to catch Josette and Jade flirting once again. She rolls her eyes and turns back around, as if she can’t bear to see something so gross. 

Not a second later, Professor Snape blows up. “Everyone, quiet, _now_!” 

Rose swallows thickly enough that she can hear it next to her, and Hope sighs quietly. The girl had always had problems with authority figures. In their third year, she had cried after McGonagall yelled at her for transfiguring the wrong object. 

“I cannot—_cannot_—believe that you all have so _blatantly_ disregarded my jurisdiction in this classroom! You, in _particular_, Miss Montgomery—“ The Gryffindor blonde whips her head up, not expecting to be singled out. “—have shown such immense, extreme disrespect that I have not _once_ seen in my _decades_ time of teaching.” 

Jade stutters as she tries to reply, before ultimately shutting her mouth. Hope kind of feels bad for the girl, but can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips all the same.

“Did I not ask you to remain concentrated and silent?” Jade nods shakily. Snape was _quite_ a terrifying professor. 

“And yet, you _disobeyed_, ultimately singlehandedly disrupting this class’ focus?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say singlehandedly—“ Jade interrupts, a brazen Gryffindor in all her glory. 

Snape talks over her.

“As consequence dictates, you will be serving detention with me tomorrow night.” Detention? Hope could not believe her ears. Was Snape absolutely mental, or having a temper tantrum? Either way, the punishment was completely uncalled for. And Hope was terribly confused. 

While Snape was definitely unreasonable to a large degree, he would normally never give detention for something so small. 

“Tomorrow night?” Jade nearly yells. Hope barely stops herself from laughing out loud. Josette puts a hand on Jade’s arm to calm her down, soothe her, or...something. Whatever it was, it had Hope seeing green. “I _can’t_! I have Slughorn’s party!” 

“I’m afraid you should have thought of that, Miss Montgomery, before acting out and pulling a stunt like this.” 

“But—“ She continues to try to argue her way out of it, but Snape has none of it. Hope watches as Josette deflates, losing her date for the dinner. 

The pureblood looks away, directly into Maya’s eyes, who’s trying terribly hard not to laugh. She cracks a smile and Hope bites down on her own lip to stop any sound coming out of it. 

That’s the thing about having friends in your classes—it proves very difficult not to mess around. 

“No buts—“ Snape repeats for the fourth time, and Hope and Maya absolutely lose it. Maya breaks first, her gasping breaths of guffaws filling the classroom awfully loudly. Hope follows soon after, trying desperately not to be noisy but failing miserably. 

Shape snaps at the both of them, harshly cutting off their laughter. 

“If you find it so funny, Miss Machado, you can join Miss Montgomery tomorrow night as well.” 

Maya turns white as a sheet. “_What_? I have the dinner, too!” 

“Not to worry.” Snape ignores her. “You can laugh in detention all you want.” 

Maya’s jaw drops, and she decides to throw Hope underneath a bus. “But Mikaelson was laughing, too!” 

“No, I _wasn’t_, you snitch,” Hope hisses, not about to add onto her pile of detention. Then she turns to Snape, gesturing to Josette. “You can’t just _take_ both of our dates like that!”

Josette nods in agreement, and the class watches in anticipation for Snape’s response. 

Snape looks to the ceiling, as if contemplating his answer. In reality, he knows exactly as to what he’s about to say. In fact, he had been preparing it all night. 

“If you’re so upset, why don’t you go with each other, _hmm_?” 

The class goes so silent Professor Snape thinks he’s gone deaf. Sound rushes by his ears and does not come again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for kudos and comments :) i’ll be replying to them by tomorrow!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had like 3 different versions of the party, but i went with this one :) hope you like it!

_ “I would rather kiss a dementor!” Hope yells over the sound of Josette gagging.  _

_ “Oh, God,” the muggleborn pants, a hand over her stomach as if she was sick. Jade pats her kindly on the back, and even holds up her hair as she bends over a nearby trash can. Hope tries not to feel the hurt rising up her own throat. “I think I just threw up in my mouth.”  _

_ “Spare me the dramatics.” Hope turns towards her, a sneer across her face, crossing her arms. “You would be  _ lucky _ to get a date with someone of my stature.”  _

_ “ _ I _ would be lucky?” Josette laughs with intense skepticism. “You would be lucky to have my wand between your eyes!”  _

_ She pulls out her wand from her sleeve and Hope does the same, completely ready to start another duel in the middle of class. Their progress from yesterday was now completely forgotten in the anger of a single statement.  _

_ However, Professor Snape has other plans, and sends them both flying to separate ends of a wall with a flick of his own wand.  _

_ “ENOUGH!”  _

Hope shakes her head, wishing she could not remember what had happened only a couple of hours ago. It seemed as though it had occurred only a second before—the memory was so close to the forefront of her mind.

After Snape had made his suggestion, the class had quickly gone crazy. Hope herself had stood with a slack jaw for almost a full minute. 

Then things had continued to go downhill. It had all first started with some of the Slytherins laughing at the insanity of Snape’s statement, and it had ended with the entirety of the Gryffindor sixth-year class cursing the professor to his grave for considering such an atrocity. 

The reaction to a muggleborn and pureblood dating had shown Hope exactly why she couldn’t allow herself to think of the other girl like that. 

Yet, Hope finds herself surprised. Although she had never really considered Snape’s suggestion before, she had only reacted so poorly because it was expected of her. For the muggleborn to actually get nauseous from disgust is something Hope still can’t entirely comprehend. 

It’s not like the pureblood is the _ugliest_ person in the world, _certainly_ not at Hogwarts. She had even dated her fair share of students—if what she had done with some of them even counted as dating. There was no reason for Josette to respond in that way, unless she was trying to hurt Hope as much as she could. If so, the pureblood had to congratulate her on a job well done...

Behind Hope, Sebastian Pyre nervously wrings his hands together as he recites his plan in his head. Bracing himself for what he is about to do, he nods and begins to walk towards the infamous Mikaelson heir. 

He approaches her while she’s in the common room, staring at the fire. It’s so late that the flames have even started to die out, and what is left is the soft glow of embers and smoke. 

“Hey, Mikaelson.” She nods in acknowledgment, almost distracted, and doesn’t look at him as he sits down. Sebastian smiles at her, and for once, it isn’t a playful or seductive one. 

“I was in Snape’s class today. I apologize, for Maya, I mean,” he tells her. 

“Don’t,” she says. Fire kindles in her eyes; she is so close to the embers that the boy can see that they have begun to reflect across her irises. So close that Hope herself feels warm in the freezing-cold room. She notes inside her head that the Slytherin common room is always cold. “We’re only friends.” 

“Right,” he agrees. “And you and I are, as well, aren’t we?” 

She nods slowly, not completely understanding what he was getting at. 

“Would you like to go to Slughorn’s party together, then?” She glances up from the fireplace to light, anxious eyes. Hope raises her eyebrows. “I’m not trying to get into your knickers—I swear on my family’s honor.” 

She turns away and rolls her eyes. Sebastian had always been so dramatic. 

“Why?” she asks him. 

“I...” It appears as though he had not expected her to question him. “Does it matter? You need a date, don’t you?” 

Hope finds herself perfectly fine with the fact that Sebastian is trying to keep his secrets. Deep down, she knows she can take anyone anyone of her liking, but honestly, she doesn’t feel like doing this with someone she can barely tolerate. She just can’t go alone—that’s too much humiliation for one night. Sure, she can hang out with Ethan and Rose, who are going together, but she’ll just be a third wheel the entire time. 

“True.” She stands up from the chair she had been sitting on. “Whatever dress robes you wear, make sure they’re dark. We’re being vampires.” 

She waits for him to comment on how cliched her choice is, but he only grins. “Come to the common room early so I can get your make-up done.” 

Sebastian pauses, choking slightly. “Make-up?” 

“You don’t like make-up?” She frowns, trying her best to look serious. 

“_No_! It’s fine,” Sebastian tells her in a hurry. She begins to walk up the staircase, and he calls out to stop her. “Actually, you know, I _love_ mascara.” 

—

Hope sleeps in on Saturday until the afternoon, and then wakes up to get ready. She swings her legs over her bed and digs through her book bag, finding a small vial filled with molten-gold liquid. She pockets it, her fingers nearly trembling. She had decided last night that she would use it today for the party. 

She and Rose then start to do their hair together in the bathroom as Penelope and Maya watch them. 

“It’s just not _fair_,” Maya rants, a sugar quill between her lips. “I only laughed, but you almost started a duel. How are _you_ still allowed to go?” 

“What can I say?” Hope smirks. “Snape adores me.” 

“You should tell your father what he said,” Penelope chimes in, holding a _Witch’s Weekly_ magazine. “The audacity of that man...he ought to pay for it.” 

“Don’t move,” Rose tells Hope, waving a wand around the back of her hair. It curls the strands beneath it into soft ringlets. Hope bristles but listens. She had never really cared for stuff like this. 

“Hey, Mikaelson!” Hope hadn’t realized Penelope had still been talking. She looks back and moves half her body, causing Rose to slap her. “If I didn’t have detention, you would have picked _me_ first, right?” 

Hope doesn’t dignify that with a response, and Penelope and Maya start arguing. 

“So, you’re taking Ethan?” she asks Rose, barely able to hear herself over her bantering friends. Rose shyly smiles. 

“Yeah, he’s really excited,” she says, not meeting Hope’s eyes. 

“And _you_?” 

Rose hesitates just enough that Hope catches it. “I heard a lot of people were going,” she states simply, changing the subject. Hope wonders if that’s her way of answering.

When they’re done with their hair, they move onto their dresses. Hope puts on a pretty dark grey one that brings out the blue in her eyes and complements her curves and figure. It runs attractively down her legs, not exactly tightly but not flowing wildly either. 

When Hope sneeks a peek at Rose, she sees her wearing a dark, emerald dress that shows off the entirety of her lower back. It suits her brown mask beautifully, which resemble the animal of a deer—with small antlers that glimmer with golden leaves. 

Hogwarts students had always worn masks or something of the same subtlety to costume parties; Hope could not remember a time she had ever really seen someone go all out and wear a banana or something equally childish. Although this is her first time going to a Slub Club Party, the decorum is the same for costume parties outside of school that Hope had attended in the past. One is always _supposed_ to dress with _class_. 

After, Rose helps Hope apply a deep red color to her lips and uses a spell to glamor her incisors into fangs. Rose doesn’t need all that much assistance with her own make-up, since her face is going to be partially covered. 

They walk down the dorm stairs ten minutes after the party begins—as is Slytherin fashion. Hope finds Sebastian sitting in an arm chair, his leg tapping nervously against the floor. Ethan stands next to him, watching for any sign of Rose. 

He startles when he sees the Slytherin keeper, wearing a black tuxedo with an emerald tie and a similar deer mask himself. Hope smiles when she finds Sebastian wearing a black tuxedo. She silently thanks Merlin for allowing the boy to dress in a way that doesn’t clash with her own outfit. They actually look as if they’re going together, to Hope’s surprise. 

“You guys look totally dashing,” Rose teases them, and Ethan blushes and compliments her back so extremely that Hope gets second-hand embarrassment watching. Sebastian only smirks. They make small talk for a short minute and then Hope begins to apply mascara to Sebastian’s eyelashes and gives him fangs as well. 

Penelope and Maya soon come down in their regular school robes, ready to serve a night of detention. They all hang out for another long couple of minutes before the girls go, wishing the rest of their friends fun. 

Before the group for the party leaves, Hope excuses herself to the bathroom and takes out the Felix Felicis potion that she had been carrying in the pocket of her dress. She barely hesitates before bringing the vial to her lips and swallowing the contents. 

Her eyes glow golden before settling back to blue. 

“Are you okay?” Rose asks her when she comes back. She smiles, feeling more confident than she had ever felt before in her life. 

“Never been better.” 

They arrive to Slughorn’s party an hour late, and they quickly see that it’s terribly crowded within the room. 

Slughorn has, indeed, outdone himself. Hope finds that the room is not set up for a simple dinner meeting, but for an elaborate Halloween party. There is an entire buffet by the back of the room, with many drinks to match, nothing alcoholic, of _course_. There are also tables set up along the edges of a dance floor—an actual dance floor where people are actually dancing—and the chandeliers on the ceiling are quite eye-catching. They don’t emit much light, maybe more for show, but they leave the room in such a compelling darkness that Hope can hardly rip her eyes away. 

And it seems that Rose and Ethan are not the only pair wearing masks. In fact, many couples are—mostly animal masks, some of mythical creatures. Hope instantly recognizes those that are not wearing masks, though. 

Right away, she can tell which ones had been invited for the sole benefit of the Potions professor. 

For example, Jo Victoire is here for her great quidditch skills, bringing her boyfriend along, a seventh-year. William Jacques had been invited for his connections in France, and he has a fifth-year blonde on his arm Hope doesn’t recognize. 

Ryan Clarke stands in the corner with his own date, and Hope wonders why the Machado siblings weren’t invited themselves. Although they don’t have quite as much influence and money as the Mikaelsons and Nicots do, they are still held in high esteem. 

There are many Ravenclaws in attendance as well; Hope particularly notes Violet Pielt, whose father had invented a well-known potion, and Anna Lowly—whose mother is an Unspeakable that works in the Department of Mysteries. 

There are only a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Emma Wilford, Maya’s partner in Defense, is by the buffet table—most definitely invited for her family’s famous experiments with the love potion Amorentia. Hope becomes shocked to see Landon Kirby by the punch bowl, but she suspects quickly that he is only someone’s plus one, and was not invited by his own right. 

She allows her eyes to linger on him when she sees Ryan Clarke approach the boy—he had even left his date behind in the corner—and they begin to argue quietly. She resolves to talk to Ryan later to figure out why, and turns back to the crowd dancing in the middle of the room. 

Another half hour passes and she does not find the reason she had come—Josette Saltzman. The girl is not sitting at a table, or standing at the dance floor. Hope wonders if the muggleborn is only late—but an hour or two had passed already. She knows that Josette is definitely coming, though, considering her sister had been invited as well. 

After a long time of looking, Hope—or maybe the Felix Felicis potion—decides that she needs a drink. She separates from Sebastian and makes her way to the punch bowl, which she finds oddly deserted. She takes a deep breath and sees that the bowl’s mostly empty and reeks of alcohol—the result of someone spiking it. 

She shifts away from the bowl, as she cannot afford getting drunk tonight—she has a mission after all. Since last night, she had become determined to confront Josette Saltzman at the party and give her a piece of her mind.

She reaches passed the bowl and grabs a bottle of water, downing half of it in seconds. Hope then turns around and becomes faced with the back of a pretty brunette wearing a blue dress. The girl is so striking that Hope stares for a long moment before looking down. She almost turns away and leaves, but a compelling, lucky voice in her head advises her to stay. 

At least, if she can’t find Saltzman by the end of the night, she’ll have someone to take to her room. Hope is embarrassed to think about it, but she hasn’t been intimate with another person for a long time—not since the last school year, actually. 

From what Hope can tell by looking at the girl’s backside, the girl’s shoulders are delicate but firm, and her hair is brown and gorgeous. She is also wearing a mask, but Hope does not pay attention to that right away, instead focusing on her hair, which Hope desperately wants to tangle her fingers into. Merlin, she really hasn’t kissed someone in a while. 

The masked girl has her hair half up and half down, her mask framed by some brown strands that only highlight her features. The mask itself is the animal of an artic wolf, sleek in build and the color of soft white, but not large enough that Hope can’t see the girl’s lips. In addition, her dress sparkles when it hits the light. It has a slit at the thigh, displaying her matching heels and tanned skin that Hope’s eyes linger dangerously on. 

It’s Felix Felicis, not Hope, that speaks up. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

She says it loudly enough that the girl turns around, sending a whiff of her perfume—like dark chocolate frogs and something sweet Hope cannot place—in the pureblood’s direction. Hope sucks in a breath at the exhilarating scent, watching the other girl freeze slightly as she looks at Hope. Hope only smirks. 

“Not really,” the girl says disinterestedly, her voice slightly familiar, glancing away from Hope and into the crowd. Fine, if the girl is going to play hard to get, Hope will just work around it. 

“Just one,” Hope requests, her fangs biting gently into her lips. A fortunate voice in her head tells her to play up the confidence. “Then I’m sure you’ll be _begging_ me for more.” 

The girl’s entire persona changes after Hope says that, as if coming to an intense realization. Her lips stretch into a playful smirk—she’s wearing pink lip gloss, and, oh, how the pureblood absolutely loves lip gloss—and her eyes glint hazel in the light. The stream of brightness disappears and the brown irises fall back into darkness. 

“Is that so?” she asks, almost mocking in a terribly familiar way Hope can’t exactly place, smiling like she knows something Hope doesn’t. It intrigues and sets a fire in her all at once, and Hope nearly burns into flames on the spot. 

Tonight will be so much fun if she can get this girl in her bed. It does not matter to learn the girl’s last name—she’s clearly in Slytherin by how she talks, and she is quite obviously a pureblood by how she carries herself. At least, that’s what Hope tells herself in that moment. 

And damn Josette Saltzman. She can find her later, and the muggleborn is not worth Hope constantly thinking about her. She can focus on someone else for tonight. To her credit, the potion was telling Hope that talking to this girl would be best in the long run. 

“I mean, if you _insist_,” the girl continues with a mischievous smile, almost like she is thinking of an inside joke Hope is not a part of. 

The brunette offers her hand, and Hope kisses her knuckles softly—finding warm skin beneath her lips—before leading her to the designated dance floor. A soft song is playing, and couples are dancing a sort of waltz. 

“You look stunning,” Hope tells her, leading the dance, one hand at the girl’s ribs. The music is slow enough that they don’t have to worry about bumping into many other people. 

“I’m _sure_ you think so.” Why does the girl sound so amused every time she talks? Hope narrows her eyes with suspicion. 

“I’m _not_ sure you believe me,” she says coolly, her eyes raking over the girl’s body again. She can’t wait to tear the dress off of her. 

Suddenly, the music changes tempo, becoming slightly quicker, but Hope’s years of etiquette and dance classes allows her to recover faster. She takes the brunette’s hand and spins her around and then back to Hope’s front. 

“You _are_ stunning,” she repeats, when they’re still pressed together. The girl’s ass moves back into Hope’s abdomen, the arm she used to spin her holding the brunette tightly against the pureblood’s body. Hope is completely consumed by the intoxicating feeling of being so close to her. She opens her mouth, whispering directly into the other girl’s ear. “Do you believe me _now_?” 

When Hope releases her, she finds a slight pink blush along the edge of the girl’s mask. She smirks in satisfaction, and they continue to dance for a small while. At one point, she sees Sebastian dancing with a masked blonde, and she feels incredibly surprised to see him grinning so hard his lips have basically split his face in half. Is that why he had wanted to come so badly? For the blonde? She smiles at him and he does the same, before they both look back to their partners.

But like her thoughts tend to do, they begin to stray back to Josette at one point. She peers over the masked girl’s shoulder in an attempt to look around, which doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Are you looking for someone?” the girl asks, almost offended, or at least trying to act like it. Hope knows somehow that she isn’t, but she stops searching for the muggleborn anyways. 

“Forgive me,” she says, gripping the brunette more tightly where her hands lay, pliant skin almost arching into her touch. She tries to smile, but she feels far too irritated to do so. Had Josette just ditched the party altogether? “You have my _full_ attention.” 

“Do I?” She laughs—so, so familiar that Hope’s brain clenches trying to recognize the sound. But it’s not possible that she knows the girl. Perhaps she’s not in Hope’s year, and she had only heard her voice passing by her in the corridors? She can’t remember, and the answer continues to evade her the longer she thinks about it. 

“It’s not a question.” She leans in, almost as if trying to kiss the other girl. The brunette dodges her lips, and Hope frowns. She is definitely not trying to play games, tonight of all nights. “Now, why don’t you take off your mask, and then we can get to _know_ each other?” 

“How about...” The masked girl lowers her voice seductively, and drifts forward, almost like a mistake, her voice like firewhiskey against Hope’s ear. “You take me somewhere private, and _then_ we get to know each other.” 


	25. Chapter 25

Hope nods as calmly as she can, feeling oddly flushed. The mental images she had gotten from that statement alone were more than enough to distract her. 

“Should we go now?” she asks, trying not to sound too eager, her voice husky where it hadn’t been before. The lucky voice in her head hints that sounding eager is perfectly fine. 

The girl must pick up on her enthusiasm anyways because she shakes her head with a quiet smile. Instead, she tells Hope, they should slip out after the song ends as to not ruin the dance for other people by running into them. 

Hope almost says that she doesn’t care about ruining the dance for other people, but Felix Felicis will not allow her to say that. As a result, they continue to dance until the song ends.

Hope finds that she has never danced so intimately with someone before. Usually—as a rule—she kept her dancing partners at a cold, formal distance, but in the past couple of minutes she had held the brunette barely three _inches_ from her own body. 

When the song finally ends, Hope leads the masked brunette away from the dance floor and to another part of the room that is separated by a slightly transparent curtain. She knows that they can hide behind it for a long time without anyone finding them. 

The second they’re adequately concealed, Hope tries to step forward and claim the girl’s lips with her own. She smells so good, and Hope dearly wants to figure out if she tasted the same as well, but it seems that the stranger has other plans.

She darts shy of Hope’s lips, parting her own to speak. 

“So, a vampire,” the girl says, moving her head back. Her eyes catch on Hope’s fangs. “I _can’t_ say that’s very original.” 

She is teasing Hope, once _again_. 

“And yet, I still caught your attention, didn’t I?” Hope leans forward, putting a hand on the wall to box the girl in. She places her other hand at her hip, which skimmed soft skin whenever the slit of the dress moved the right way. Every touch sends jolts straight to Hope’s spine, leaving her entire back to tingle restlessly. 

“Not exactly,” the girl murmurs, removing Hope’s hand with delicate fingers. Hope grows annoyed but doesn’t comment. “I would say it’s more that _I_ caught _yours_.” 

“Yes, you definitely did,” Hope agrees, moving forward to try kissing her for nearly the fourth time that night. The girl backs away yet again, and the pureblood grabs her wrists roughly and pins them above her head. 

“Why won’t you let me kiss you?” 

The girl frowns, her lips forming into a pout. Hope’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes fixating on the small action, wondering why it is so familiar. No, she is being ridiculous. _Surely_, many people she knows pout, right?

Hope’s lips hover over the other girl’s own as she waits for her to answer. 

“I—“

“Josie?” a masculine voice came from outside the curtain. “Are you in here? Josie? We’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you! Josie?” 

_Josie_?

Hope’s entire body goes rigid, and her jaw slackens. She takes a large step away and drops her hands, separating herself the instant she figures out the girl behind the mask. Her blue eyes go wide as they meet Josette’s brown ones. How had she never seen it before? 

“Saltzman?” 

Before she can think about anything else, she sees movement out of the corner of her eyes and backs up just as Rafael Waithe appears from the other side. His gaze focuses on Josette, allowing Hope to slip out through the curtain without him noticing. 

“Hey, what are you doing here by yourself?” she hears Rafael say, only barely over the sound of her heart beating loudly in her ears. 

“I...I needed some fresh air,” Josette tells him, and Hope, for the life of her, cannot understand how she had not recognized that voice. Now that she is hearing it herself, however, she can tell right away that it’s the muggleborn. 

Still, Hope doesn’t know why it had taken so long to figure out who the girl was. Had the girl used a spell to alter her voice? Or her features? Then again, Josette had not frowned or threw a single insult the entire night, and that was more than enough to trick Hope into thinking she was an entirely different person _altogether_. 

A large part of Hope remains dubious, though. Perhaps it was all a figment of her imagination, yes, that had to be it! Yet, she knows that she can’t pretend that she had not wanted to kiss the brunette badly, and she could not forget the way she had put her hands all over her. 

Merlin, she is utterly humiliated. The muggleborn had set her up the entire night to play with her. She had danced with her, had flirted with her, all to mess with Hope. All to knock the almighty Hope Andrea Mikaelson off of her high horse—and it had _worked_. 

And she had _deserved_ every single moment. 

“Where have you been?” Rose asks her, when she approaches the table they’re all sitting at, her fingers still shaking. She feels dirty; Hope thinks she needs to take a shower, needs to wash her hands, needs to— 

“Uh,” Hope responds, still in shock. It seems that Felix Felicis cannot help her any longer. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” The girl asks, giving her friend a weird look. 

“No.” Her thoughts are still on what had happened moments ago. Dark chocolate wafts into her nose unbidden. 

“Merlin, did someone place a confundus charm on you or something?” 

“I...” 

Rose stands up from her seat, concern etched into her face. “H, I swear, if you don’t speak more than three words in the next second, I will slap you out of it.” 

“Uh.” 

A hand slaps her red across the face, and Hope blinks before snapping out of her daze completely. 

“Rose, listen to me very carefully,” she lowers her voice, her eyes meeting Rose’s dangerously. “Did anyone see me dancing with that girl earlier?” 

It’s Rose’s turn to become confused. 

“What?” she asks, her lips parted. Hope shakes her slightly. “No. No. Sebastian mentioned something about it to me but he didn’t tell anyone else, no, he didn’t—I’m sure.” 

“Alright.” Hope nods shakily. “Good.” 

“_Why_?” 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

Hope would, indeed, _not_ be telling her later, but Rose did not need to know that. 

A server passes by Hope and she grabs a flute of champagne from him, sipping it quickly. 

Screw not getting drunk, and screw the Felix Felicis potion—it had not helped her at _all_ this night. 

Hope quickly realizes that the champagne is not, in fact, champagne. She sneers. “What is this? Apple cider?” 

She beckons the server back, who was actually a student that Slughorn had coerced to tend the party. 

“You can’t just give it back,” the boy mumbles when Hope tries to hand the champagne flute to him, and she notices that he’s a couple years younger than herself. 

“Do you want me to hand it to you or shove it down your pants?” she asks, not very kindly, and he grabs the flute and leaves in a hurry. Rose watches her with worried eyes. 

Sebastian comes back to the table an hour before the party ends, his shirt untucked from his dress robes and his hair a mess. Hope has the thought that he reeks of sex. 

“You couldn’t have waited until after?” she asks, looking him up and down, a look of disdain on her face.

“Sorry,” he smiles, not really sorry at all. “What about you?” 

He wiggles his eyebrows, and Rose perks up. “Did _you_ get lucky?” 

“No.” She almost laughs in his face. 

She had not gotten _lucky_ at all. 

Sebastian sits down next to her, staring at her as if trying to figure something out. Hope pretends she doesn’t feel his gaze on her and looks away. Why had Hope even approached Josette to begin with? 

She would not even be in this mess if it wasn’t for that stupid potion, telling her to be confident and do things she wouldn’t normally—and now she is absolutely hating the consequences. 

Hope looks around for the girl terrorizing her mind in particular, finding her at a distant table with a glass flute in her hand, which is yet another reason Hope should despise the muggleborn—she likes apple cider! 

Next to Josette is her date, Rafael, and next to him is Milton, who had probably been brought along by Elizabeth. They are all wearing wolf masks of different colors—it appears that they decided to all go as a pack of some sort. 

It also appears to Hope that they’re all leaving early, as Josette and her sister had begun to stand up and head for the door. 

“I’m going back to my room,” Hope tells Rose distractedly, standing up as well. She would ambush Josette, she decides. She would embarrass her like Josette had done to her. 

And her plan had nothing to do with the gold liquid still running through her veins, of course. 

“Wait!” Rose stands up, too. “ I’ll come with you.” 

“No,” she calls back, her eyes trained on Josette’s back. “Enjoy yourself.” 

She follows the small group as they leave the party, several steps behind them but close enough that she could keep track as they walk through corridor after corridor. 

She becomes relieved to find that they’re dropping off Josette first, as she quickly notices that the four of them are walking in the direction of the East tower. 

They all say their sickly sweet goodbyes in front of the Slytherin common room door, and a gag escapes Hope that has Elizabeth glancing in her direction. She jumps behind a suit of armor and hides for a long minute. 

She then watches Josette kiss Rafael on the cheek—why does her chest feel so _tight_ suddenly?—before muttering the common room password and walking in. She follows directly after, glad to see that the common room was completely empty. 

She allows Josette to take off her heels and walk up four steps to her room before she opens her mouth. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

Josette freezes and slowly turns around like she had done so familiarly hours before. 

Except, the wolf mask is gone now—

Josette Saltzman can hide no longer. 


	26. Chapter 26

Hope watches as Josette takes a deep breath and picks up her dress before walking down the stairs again. The pureblood can’t stop herself from stepping back as the girl approaches her. 

“You can’t _seriously_ be surprised?” Josette says, her mask dangling next to her heels in her hand. Hope eyes it with a lump in her throat. “You tried to pick me up thinking I was someone else!” 

“I...I didn’t _know_,” Hope tells her, her voice hoarse in all the wrong places. She feels like she might snap into pieces. “I would—I would _never_ have danced with you, if, if I knew.” 

She sounds desperate, like she’s trying to cling onto some misguided faith, and Josette knows it.

“And that’s exactly why I...” The muggleborn can’t even finish her sentence—the implication is too heavy between them. “You needed to learn your lesson, to see that your beliefs aren’t nearly as concrete as you think.” 

It had all been a trick, then? The other girl had just been playing with her the entire time? 

“Learn my lesson?” Hope bristles, blinking away hot tears. Her head pounds with the urge to cry. “We’re not in preschool.” 

Josette laughs sharply, but Hope guesses she’s not finding any of this funny at all. 

“Forget it.” She turns away, and Hope’s bottom lip pulls into a pathetic sneer. “You’re incorrigible.” 

Hope speaks up again when Josette’s in between the first and second step, her voice liquid gold. The pureblood knows that if she hadn’t taken the potion, she would have dropped this entire thing already. 

“So, that’s all it was?” Josette stops but doesn’t look back. “A trick?” 

Hope’s stomach crunches painfully as she waits for the other girl to reply. It takes longer than expected, leaving her in agony of the answer. 

“I...” she murmurs, her voice too soft. Hope can see the strain in her shoulders, the tightness in her neck. “_Yes_. That’s all it was.” 

Hope grits her teeth, becoming angry with the other girl. It couldn’t have all been a trick, right? She hates herself for thinking it, but she could have _sworn_ that they had a connection when they were dancing, at least. 

“That’s not...” she trails off. What was she going to say? That’s not fair? That’s not right? No, it certainly wasn’t. 

“You _owe_ me.”

“_You owe me_,” she repeats, not truly knowing where she’s going with this. 

“Owe you what?” Josette turns around, exasperated, almost bumping into Hope with the sudden movement. She steps back to give herself more room when it doesn’t look like the pureblood will give it to her. Hope only follows after her, trapping her in against the handrail with one hand on either side of the other girl. 

Hope doesn’t immediately reply, her eyes glinting like she’s trying to make a decision, her irises clouding over like her thoughts are fighting with each other. 

She seems to decide quickly, because then she moves forward and her lips press angrily against Josette’s—an anguished, bloody-lipped kiss where Hope can only see gold. 

Josette freezes and drops her heels and mask, and if they thud dully against the floor of the common room, Hope doesn’t hear a single thing passed the collision of lips. Josette tastes exactly like she had imagined her to—like her favorite type of chocolate frog, and something else in her tangy lip gloss that Hope still can’t place. 

Josette doesn’t immediately reciprocate, though, standing nearly unmoving against her, but not pulling away at the same time. It only serves to make Hope desperate, and she presses more roughly against the other girl, her lips trembling and her spine tingling delightfully. 

When Josette’s pouty lips finally push back, Hope can’t help smirking against them and snaking her other hand to inappropriately skim the skin left exposed by the dress’ slit high on her thigh. 

“_Hope_.” 

The muggleborn gasps quietly—her voice curling perfectly around the single syllable in Hope’s name—parting her lips just enough that the pureblood’s experienced tongue sneaks between them. It coaxes gently into her mouth, and Josette sighs almost silently, her nails scraping against Hope’s shoulders. 

The sensation leaves Hope _winded_ and _dizzy_ and _feeling like her heart is going to burst_, and she can’t help gripping the skin underneath her fingers firmly to steady herself. 

Just when it seems like it’ll never end, Josette leans back. Hope chases after her like a ghost, her lips brushing faintly against the muggleborn’s until Josette pushes her away with two hands on her shoulders. 

“S-stop,” she whispers, her eyes still clenched shut. “No, _no_. I—I _can’t_.” 

Hope backs away frowning, and it’s just enough room for Josette to quite literally flee up the staircase. Hope watches her, her pupils blown wide and the skin of her face flushed completely. 

Her eyes drop down to the floor, thinking that she’s _truly_ screwed herself over. The mask and heels sit scattered haphazardly a feet away from her.

Hope hears voices coming from the common room door and quickly grabs them, darting up to her own room. 

She throws them into her trunk and collapses onto her bed panting, her lungs heaving for air. The only sound in the room is the rapid throbbing of her heart beneath her chest, and when she places her hand over the skin, she can almost feel it against her palm. 

What had she just done? 

—

Hope hears the news Sunday night. It reaches her from a group of whispering second-years after dinner in the corridor. She almost doesn’t hear it—her thoughts on Josette and how she had not once looked at Hope since their kiss—but she just barely manages to catch the tail end of their conversation. 

“Hold on. What was that?” 

Rose puts a hand on her arm to stop her from confronting them, but it’s not enough to take the words back from her mouth. 

The Slytherin girls startle at the chance to talk to Hope Mikaelson, and one particularly excited blonde steps forward. “We were talking about Sebastian Pyre.” 

Her voice is timid but she has a vibrant look in her eyes that tells Hope immediately that she likes to gossip a lot. 

“What about him?” she asks, her voice suspiciously thick. Penelope next to her narrows her eyes at the girl when she doesn’t reply. 

“Well,” she stumbles over her words, like she wants to deliver them to have the best effect. “He was caught kissing a _mudblood_—that Elizabeth Saltzman—yesterday night. I guess he’s a blood traitor now.” 

Hope’s thoughts race as the words settle. They imprint into her mind as silence follows the second-year’s statement. 

Merlin, had Elizabeth been the one she had seen him dancing with? Was that the person he had slept with during the party? 

_Shit_. 

Hope suddenly remembers the blonde she had seen Sebastian making out with at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. How could she have been so blind as to not see it before? 

Penelope and Rose stand in shock next to her, their jaws slack. Sebastian had never been nice to muggleborns in the past, had not even tolerated or sympathized with them for that matter. 

“You’re absolutely certain?” Hope asks, the first one to snap out of it, and the girl hesitates before nodding up and down so quickly that Hope’s afraid her head will fall off. 

“Holy shit,” Penelope curses, and the three all turn towards each other to process the information. The girl sees that she’s unneeded and scampers off with her friends. “I’m _going_ to kill him—“ 

“Pen, we don’t even know if it’s _true_—“ 

“That ditzy blonde just bloody _confirmed_ it!”

“Stop it,” Hope whispers harshly, looking passed them to a distant spot on the wall. Her eyes remain unfocused for a long moment, her mind flashing with images of her, too, kissing a muggleborn. She still can’t get rid of the memory of Josette saying her actual name for the first time. 

She could scream until her lungs went raw that she had regretted it, but the truth was—

She _didn’t_. 

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” 

—

On Monday, Hope doesn’t have to worry about seeing Josette much. Every month, her schedule switches, so she only has Double Charms, Double Herbology, and Double DADA today. 

In the morning, the great hall grows absolutely silent when Sebastian walks in, and everyone ignores their food to blatantly stare at him. He averts his eyes to the floor and grabs a piece of toast before practically running away, and the students’ attention becomes focused on Elizabeth instead.

Hope can even feel some people staring at her expectantly, too—like it’s her job to put Sebastian in his place. 

And it _was_. 

With a father like Niklaus Mikaelson, Sebastian was her responsibility, and he had crossed a line. Since Sunday night, the Slytherins had _already_ begun to treat him like crap. 

It reminds Hope exactly why she can’t kiss Josette again, exactly why they can’t ever be together in any way whatsoever. Sebastian wasn’t a Mikaelson—he had it hard, but not as hard as she did. 

If anyone ever found out about what she herself had done, she would be instantly ostracized from her friends and kicked out by her family. 

She had to make sure that didn’t happen to Sebastian. She was dealing with enough as it was—being the boy’s date to the Slug Club party already had people questioning her. 

_ “What if she’s his  _ beard _ ?”  _

_ “Imagine how she must feel, off  _ fucking _ a  _ mudblood _ behind her back—“  _

_ “Mikaelson must be a blood traitor as well. Those  _ kind _ flock in groups, you know...”  _

So, _yes_, it was her _job_ to talk to him. 

She corners Sebastian after Herbology. 

“Go on,” she tells Ethan, and he raises his eyebrows but doesn’t argue. The two hours in a class with Sebastian had been awkward enough for him. 

She waits for everyone to leave the greenhouse before pulling Sebastian aside. 

“Get your hands off of me,” he grumbles, wiping at his robes as she slams him into a tree. She takes out her wand and he eyes it before sighing. 

“What do you want from me?”

This close, she can see the circles underneath his eyes. She wonders if he even got a single hour of sleep last night. 

“I forbid you to court Saltzman,” she tells him, her voice just a hint below threatening. 

“_Forbid_?” Sebastian smirks, but there’s no confidence behind it, only misery. The last two days have been hard on him, she can tell. “You can’t forbid me to do anything.” 

She twirls her wand through a strand of her hair, and he gulps just enough that she can hear it. 

“I can, actually,” she says, smiling dangerously. He inches back into the tree trunk. 

“I don’t understand.” Sebastian frowns. Hope thinks that he’s being beyond silly. “Why?” 

“She’s a muggleborn—“ _Fuck_, she had meant to say _mudblood_. “You’ll be graduating in two years. You don’t need her.” 

“It doesn’t matter if she’s muggleborn or not,” he says, like he’s terribly certain. “None of it matters. I’m in love with her.” 

She laughs at what an idiot he sounds like. Of course it matters. It would _always_ matter for them.

And who was Sebastian to say that he loves her? The Saltzman twins had only been at the school for a little less than a _month_. 

“You’re _not_.” She knits her eyebrows together, trying to convey how important it is that he listens carefully. “You think you _are_, and you think it _doesn’t_ matter, but when you go home for Christmas, and your father hears about it, it _will_.” 

“My father won’t hear about it.” 

Hope rolls her eyes, suddenly grasping how crazy the boy had become.  


“Fuck. You really _are_ in love.” She sneers like he’s the most disgusting person she’s ever seen. “And it has only made you _foolish_.” 

“Foolish?” He laughs, too. “You’re such a hypocrite, Mikaelson. I see the way you look at Josie.” 

She glances away to the floor, feeling like her eyes might betray her. It was too late—that action already had. 

“We _all_ saw the way you ran after her when she left the party,” he adds, smirking a little bit. Hope would not let him get the upper hand. 

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” Her wand twitches between her fingers. 

“I guess love has made a foolery out of both of us, then,” he tells her, his voice heavy with despair and some other emotion Hope can’t figure out. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snaps, pointing her wand directly at his neck. It digs into his pulse point, and she can feel it when he swallows. 

No, she didn’t even like Josette. And she was definitely not in love with her. How dare he even _say_ that—

“Stop courting Saltzman,” she finishes, before he can get another word in, backing up and walking away. She feels as though she can’t stay for a second longer without throwing up. “Or I’ll inform your father personally.”

She throws a body-binding hex behind her shoulder and she can hear a deep _thump_ when it hits Sebastian. He crashes to the floor frozen, and Hope Mikaelson doesn’t _once_ look back. 


	27. Chapter 27

Hope doesn’t see Sebastian come in during Defense, so she quickly assumes that either her body-binding curse probably hasn’t worn off yet or he’s already broken up with Elizabeth. 

Yet the Gryffindor comes in with her sister like normal, and they’re giggling in a way that suggests the blonde’s heart hasn’t been broken yet. Jade’s with them as well, that irritating fool, and if Hope’s nose wrinkles in distaste she doesn’t realize it. 

As always, Jade walks Josette to her desk, pestering her about the party’s events that she missed out on. 

“I’m not going to torture you with the details,” Josette laughs, setting her book bag down on the table. Hope tries not to acknowledge her in any way. No. She would not even look at her, not after what she had done. She would pretend it didn’t happen. In fact, she no longer remembers it at all. Yes. She could not remember the feeling of Josette’s nails against her skin, her mouth against her own, the taste of chocolate frogs—

“Oh, so you _did_ have fun?” 

Josette thinks about it for a second, her eyes glancing over to Hope. Hope pretends that she’s not listening, she pretends she isn’t even in the same room. “Yeah, I...I guess I did.” 

Jade seems to frown at that, which annoys Hope more than she thought it would. Surely, Jade should have been _happy_ for her, right? 

“But I would have had more fun if you were there,” the muggleborn adds, blushing slightly. Hope grits her teeth. 

“Oh.” Jade smiles shyly, red painting her cheeks as well. Hope is a second away from cursing her into next week. “Really?” 

Snape swoops into the classroom just a moment later, relieving Hope of having to burn out her eyes and cut off her ears. Jade goes back to her seat before she can get handed another detention, and the surge of heat in Hope’s chest doesn’t waste time. 

“It’s _pathetic_,” she sneers, and Josette whirls her head in the pureblood’s direction, raising her eyebrows. It’s clear to Hope that the muggleborn thought they would follow an oath of silence after Saturday night. “The way she hangs all over you.” 

“Jade?” She looks over to the blonde. Hope follows her line of sight and can’t help her sarcasm. 

“No, the poltergeist standing behind her.” Josette leans her head back to look before she realizes Hope’s not serious. She rolls her eyes and Hope can’t help the smirk slipping onto her face. 

“That’s funny,” Josette huffs a laugh, “coming from _you_.” 

The smirk on Hope’s face drops at what Josette’s implying. She bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from rising to the bait. 

“I wasn’t aware that I made a joke.” She can’t help herself.

Josette leans in slightly with a smile, similar to the one she had been wearing Halloween night. A shiver runs down Hope’s spine, yet she feels hot. Is it possible for a classroom to be cold and warm all at once? 

“Would you like me to explain it for you?” Josette asks, sickly-sweet, and Hope scowls even as her gaze lingers on the lip gloss the girl is wearing. 

Sometime since they had first met, their dynamic had changed. No longer were the biting insults and scathing remarks that she had become familiar with, but instead teasing and childish comebacks. Maybe that was the problem, though. Hope needed to feel normal again. 

“I mean, if we’re telling stories,” she starts, “why don’t _I_ start with what I heard at the Astronomy—“ 

Hope’s mouth is sewn shut before she can blink, and she continues to talk with no sound, her eyes widened as she brings her hand to her mouth. She realizes that the other girl has casted a nonverbal silencing charm on her. 

She snaps her eyes up to Josette’s, who is nearly beaming with a mix between cockiness and satisfaction. She reaches for her wand to perform the countercurse but Josette only casts the spell again every time she tries it. She sighs and puts her wand down, looking at Josette pointedly to release her from the charm. 

Josette just glances away and settles comfortably into her chair as Snape starts addressing the class. 

“You have all worked very diligently these past couple of days, and I thank each and every one of you for your effort, but I am afraid that I have gone about this the _wrong_ way. Many of you have showed little to no progress, which is to be expected—“ 

Hope zones out and attempts to perform the countercurse when she sees that Josette’s looking at Snape very attentively. However, the muggleborn must be _great_ at multitasking because Hope still can’t talk. 

She reaches out and pokes Josette with her wand in the thigh underneath their desk, but she only ignores Hope. The pureblood sighs soundlessly and turns back to Snape. 

“—So we will be slowing down this process. Not to sound repetitive, but the essence of this spell is unlocking your most happiest memory and solidifying your connection with it. Today we will be focusing on that. I want you all to spend the rest of your class period talking to your partners about this memory.” 

Hope frowns, a sick feeling dropping her heart to her stomach. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to tell Josette anything about her being happy without utterly aching the entire time. 

“Remember every detail, every word, every moment. Remember how it made you feel then, how it makes you feel now. Is it a distant time of the past? Did it only happen yesterday? I want you to talk about it so much that it’s the only thing on your mind.” 

Hope quickly tries to think of a memory she can talk about, but nothing comes to her mind. She flips through her childhood like a book, but the pages are blurry and the words don’t make sense. Can she not think of _anything_ at all? There has to be _something_. There _has_ to be. 

“After, you should find casting your patronus a little easier, although most definitely still difficult...” Snape begins to disconnect from them, and panic fills Hope’s joints like lead. She’ll be fine, she tells herself. Josette will probably talk the entire time, right? She’ll be _fine_. “Whenever you’re ready, please...” 

Hope suddenly remembers that she actually _can’t_ talk, so she leans back in her chair and fixes her gaze to the ground, her arms crossed. 

It sounds as though no one else feels like talking, from the silence encompassing the room. Snape sighs. 

“I understand that this is a personal matter,” he says, before his face hardens. “But if someone does not start talking in the next minute, I will be assigning detentions just as quickly.” 

_That_ gets people chatting rather swiftly, and Snape starts walking around the room to scare the brave students that aren’t—particularly Hope and Josette. 

“Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman...” he drawls, coming to a stop in front of them. “While I can’t say I’m surprised, I can say that I am deadly _serious_ about disobedience. Get to it, please.” 

Hope opens her mouth to show him that talking is impossible and to get Josette a detention, but her voice somehow comes out. 

“I can’t talk!” she exclaims loudly enough that some students around them pause to look at her. Maya even raises an eyebrow. Josette giggles behind her hand. 

“Your vocal cords seem to be in perfect working order, Miss Mikaelson,” Snape remarks, tilting his head, and Hope positively glowers, realizing that Josette ended the spell. 

“Yes, sir,” she agrees, a bite to her tone, and he walks away unimpressed. She turns toward Josette very slowly, her jaw clenched. 

“Was that _necessary_?” 

“Yes,” Josette says simply, like she’s talking about the weather. “Now, I’m going to talk about my happiest memory, and you’re not going to say a word unless you want a repeat of a moment ago.” 

“_Fucking_ controlling—“ Hope mutters and Josette sighs, interrupting her. 

“What did I just say?” she asks, pinning the pureblood with a stern look. Hope all but raises her hands in surrender and gestures for her to start. 

“Okay.” Josette closes her eyes, as if trying to visualize it, and Hope thinks that she looks rather pretty like that, but she’d never say it, of course. “I’m with my family for the annual Saltzman reunion. It’s a Saturday morning, and my cousins and I are all expected to play the usual game of flag football—“ 

“What’s flag football?” 

Josette opens her eyes slowly. Her annoyance drops when she sees that Hope’s genuinely confused. 

“It’s football with flags. Anyways—“ 

“What’s football?” 

Josette hesitates for a second. “_Oh_.” 

“What?” Hope’s nose flares. 

“Sorry.” Josette blinks, remembering herself. Hope notices that she has very long eyelashes, indeed. They flutter against her eyelids like butterfly wings, actually. “I just forgot that you’re not very educated about this stuff.” 

She moves past her shock somewhat quickly. putting it in terms Hope knows. “Football is like quidditch, but without the hoops. And without the brooms.” 

“Oh,” Hope breathes, smirking slightly. “You should have just led with that.” 

Josette rolls her eyes. “You’re a child.” 

“As I was saying before you interrupted me—“ Hope scoffs, “—my sister and I were playing the game with our cousins, but we were losing _really_ badly.” 

Josette pauses again, watching Hope carefully. 

“Like your match against Hufflepuff the other week,” she clarifies, and Hope pulls a face. 

“Yeah, I got _that_ part.” 

“Sure.” Josette smirks slightly, and Hope forgets that they’re in a room surrounded by other people. She listens, almost transfixed, as the muggleborn talks with incredible bliss and tranquility. “Well, at one point, Lizzie suggested we use our magic to win. She said that our wandless spells wouldn’t get detected by the ministry trace because they were unskilled enough to pass below the stimulus threshold. However, we were playing against our relatives, who are all muggle and know nothing about magic, so I told her no so we wouldn’t expose ourselves. Plus, our parents were watching.” 

Josette smiles, looking off into the distance as she remembers one thing or another. Hope forces her lips into a disinterested line, but she knows she’s fully intrigued. 

“But we lose every year to them, and then our cousins spend the rest of the year rubbing it in our faces. Towards the end of the game, I eventually gave in to my sister and we started catching up. Our teammates didn’t know how, of course, but it was really hilarious seeing the shock on their faces. Lizzie and I had so much fun using magic outside of school, too.” 

Josette grins so completely that Hope glances away, feeling like she’s intruding on a memory she can’t share. Of course, she had won many quidditch games over her life, but she could never remember them with such clarity after a while. 

“We were tied with thirty seconds left of the game, our possession. And, just in time, I made the last touchdown—“

“Touchdown?”

“Almost like catching the snitch,” she supplies. 

“Ah.” 

“My parents were so proud of us. So—_so_ proud.” Josette’s voice grows thick with emotion, but Hope can’t tell if it’s nostalgia, regret, or something different altogether. “It was just a silly game, but winning showed my cousins that they couldn’t bother us anymore, and they _haven’t_ since. Using magic when I wasn’t supposed to was so...” 

Josette blushes, a reminder that she’s talking to Hope Mikaelson. The pureblood doesn’t think that she’ll finish her sentence, until she does. 

“..._Exhilarating_.” She inhales, finally opening her eyes. Hope swallows as she looks directly into her eyes. Had they always been so bright? “Do you know what I mean?” 

Hope’s vision traces the stretch of Josette’s pouty lips, her gentle eyes, the small blush of pink on her cheeks. Hope suddenly knows exactly what she means. She’s never felt so enthralled. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, her voice slightly ragged. Josette smiles again, almost pleased with herself, before looking at her expectantly. 

“Your turn,” she says, and Hope’s heart stutters in her throat. 

“Right.” Hope wrings her hands together before dropping them into her lap. “Well, I guess I usually think about quidditch.” 

Josette only sits and stares, probably waiting for her to continue, but Hope doesn’t. “Is that all?” 

Her prompting makes Hope nervous, so she tries to think of something to add. Wait. She doesn’t owe the muggleborn anything. What is she doing? “Well, I like flying. It makes me feel good.” 

Josette crosses her arms, looking almost disappointed. Then she startles forward as if she’s come to an intense revelation. “_That’s_ why you suck at performing the spell!” 

“_Excuse_ me?” 

“A patronus is about true happiness. Flying around and chasing after a ball doesn’t give you that. You need to think of something other than a game,” Josette explains. 

“Your whole memory was about a game,” Hope deadpans. 

“It _wasn’t_,” Josette says, her tone insistent. “At least, that wasn’t the point. The memory made me happy because of my sister, because of my parents...my family...” 

Hope arches an eyebrow, not getting the main idea. Why couldn’t quidditch give her that same happiness? 

“Family, friends—people, that’s what’s important. That’s what makes us happy. How could a broom ever replicate that feeling?” 

Hope feels slightly offended. 

“Okay, _Hufflepuff_.” Josette rolls her eyes. “Have you ever even _been_ on a broom?”

“No.” Josette glances away. 

“Then you can’t talk,” Hope states, her nose upturned snobbishly, “not if you’ve never been flying.” 

“I have a fear of heights,” Josette tells her, so simply, so easily that Hope wants to rip her own hair out. 

She wants to scream, wants to explain that Josette can’t just tell people her fears, especially people like _Hope Mikaelson_.

Hope tries to recover as quickly as she can. 

“That’s silly,” she manages, when she’s somehow found her voice. 

“No,” Josette sighs. Hope thinks that there’s been a lot of that today. And eye rolling. “It’s _not_.” 

“Yes, it is. Why fear something you’ve never experienced?” 

“That makes no sense. I’ve never experienced dying on a plane, but I’m afraid of that.” Josette uncrosses her arms, as if she’s won their small spat. “Besides, fears are supposed to be irrational. Your argument has _obvious_ flaws.” 

Hope is still stuck on something she had stated at the beginning of her sentence. 

“Hold on,” she says. “What’s a plane?” 

Josette gasps so dramatically that one would think she had just seen her entire family killed in front of her. Once she gets over her shock, she starts to tentatively explain the concept of an airplane. “It’s a vehicle muggles use to travel and fly to different places.” 

“Muggles can _fly_?” Hope doesn’t understand, she can’t fathom something so simple. “But they don’t have magic.” 

Josette narrows her eyes like Hope has said something rude. 

“Muggles aren’t primitive or barbaric.” Her words hold so much conviction that Hope wants to tell her that that wasn’t what she had meant. “They have human brains, just like you and I.” 

The bell rings before Hope can get a word in. She can’t believe the class was over. Had time really passed so quickly? Yet, the pair don’t move as everyone stands up to leave around them. Hope feels like Josette is expecting her to say something. 

“I...of course,” she tries, speaking too rapidly to appear calm. “I—I wasn’t trying to imply that they don’t.” 

The muggleborn nods and glances away, perhaps hearing the weakness in Hope’s voice or feeling the stark emptiness of the room as the students hastily file out of the room. She grabs her bag and steps away, her eyes still to the floor before Hope calls her back. 

“I’ll see you in detention?” Josette looks up into Hope’s eyes, and stares for a second longer than usual—like she’s really, really looking at the pureblood. Hope blinks quickly, wondering what the other girl is searching for. 

She must find it, because Josette smiles slightly. 

“Um, yeah,” she affirms, her eyebrows knitting together as if she’s confused or distracted. Hope thinks that maybe she’s both. “See you then.” 

—

Hope spends her time before detention in the library. She’s mostly hiding from Saltzman—she feels as though her emotions are all over the place. She can’t stop thinking about their conversation from earlier, how much hearing about something so simple as a football game sparked her interest. 

Josette had talked so freely and openly that Hope could not find it in herself to humiliate or insult the girl even _once_. Instead, she had actually found herself asking questions and Josette had answered them without being demeaning or rude—if only a little _surprised_. 

Yet, deep down, Hope knows that it would not last. When it came down to it, Sebastian would break up with Elizabeth soon, and Josette would hate her for it. 

Once again, all their progress would be forgotten in the anger of _another_ one of Hope’s bad decisions.

At the same time, maybe it was for the best. 

She could not allow herself to get close to the other girl, and she needed to remain loyal to her family and her friends. Sebastian had slipped up, and he had had to pay the repercussions for his actions. The same would happen to her if anyone figured out the inner turmoil rampant in her thoughts. 

So, Hope Mikaelson hides in the library. 

She works on the homework she didn’t get done over the weekend, and finishes most of it just before detention. 

After, she decides to drop off her textbooks at her room before going to Slughorn’s classroom. Since she’ll be missing dinner, she also swings by the kitchens and grabs some fruit to eat on her way to detention. 

She gets there a minute before Josette, who nods in acknowledgment and a little bit of shock when she sees her. Hope thinks that maybe the other girl expected her to be late again. The Mikaelson heir startles slightly at the sight of the muggleborn, watching her carefully for any indication that Sebastian and Elizabeth are over—for any sign that Josette’s out for blood.

But she doesn’t say anything, so Hope’s guessing that Sebastian hasn’t been able to do it yet. She might have to threaten him again if he’s so blatantly disregarding her instructions. 

Slughorn waves them inside shortly and throws each girl a pair of gloves. “Right, put those on.” 

Hope frowns as the dragonhide of the gloves chafes against her skin. “Tonight we will be traveling to the greenhouses. I hope you two know some good warming charms, it’s very cold out, it is.” 

He lights a lantern with the tip of his wand and the three of them begin the long trek to the greenhouses, Slughorn in front of them and Hope muttering underneath her breath behind him. 

“Tomorrow afternoon, my first years will be trying their luck at a Forgetfulness potion. As you both should know, the potion involves mistletoe berries, which Professor Sprout has graciously permitted us to harvest from her garden...” 

He continues to talk, but Hope chooses not to listen. It’s raining slightly, enough that Hope’s robes have little drops of water on them. She glances over at her detention companion and sees that she’s not listening to the Potions Professor either. 

Instead, her gaze is focused on the trees around them like she’s never seen them before. Hope realizes that the other girl actually hasn’t walked this specific path before, since she doesn’t take Herbology. 

They arrive at the greenhouses ten minutes later, and Slughorn instructs them to gather all the berries at a nearby bush. 

“Be careful not to prick your fingers,” he tells them. Hope remarks sarcastically in her head that that would be impossible since they’re wearing gloves. “When you’re finished, you can start squashing them and putting them into these vials.” 

He holds out some bottles and places them on a desk, before waving them back outside to the aforementioned bush. 

“Of _course_,” Hope grumbles. “That lazy idiot gets to sit on his ass underneath a _dry_ roof while we have to _endure_ this dreadful weather.” 

Josette laughs lightly, drops of rain in her eyelashes. “It’s only _drizzling_, you’re so dramatic.” 

Hope huffs with false annoyance and says nothing, moving toward the opposite side of the bush Josette is working on. The two quickly elect to do their punishment in silence, but Hope’s thoughts are too loud to ignore. 

The kiss still stands heavily between them, just enough that Hope can feel it but not enough for her to say something about it. 

She knows Josette won’t talk about it out loud either. They’re at a stalemate. If the muggleborn mentions the kiss, Hope will just mention what she heard at the Astronomy Tower. They haven’t discussed it, but the promise lies unspoken between them. Hope wishes she had never brought up the Astronomy Tower earlier in the first place. Maybe if she hadn’t, Josette would actually be talking to her right now. 

And for Merlin’s _sake_—

She had kissed the other girl, and the both of them were acting like it had never happened. Did it not mean _anything_ at all? Josette _had_ kissed her back, right? Did _that_ mean something? 

Hope settles on just watching the girl secretly in between her work. She must do a bad job on the secret part because Josette catches on very quickly. 

The muggleborn looks up like her name’s been called, directly into dark, blue eyes, and Hope darts her vision away to a spot on the bush. But Josette’s eyes stay on her like smoke, taking the pureblood’s breath away and leaving her with polluted air. 

Hope is only able to inhale normally when the muggleborn looks away, but her shoulders don’t even have a split-second to relax before Josette fixes her eyes on her again. 

“Are you just going to keep staring?” Hope finally snaps, her own eyes jolting to Josette’s. 

“You were staring first.” Josette shrugs, glancing down to a berry in her hand. Neither of them utter a single word for a full minute. 

“Have you _really_ never been on a broom?” Hope breaks the silence, incredulously, and Josette stops struggling with the berry she’s trying to pull out. Josette doesn’t falter even though the topic is awfully random. 

“Yes. Is that so _hard_ to believe?” She turns her attention back to trying to tear out the berry with both hands. Hope nods even though she can’t see it, focusing on how Josette is basically wrestling with the bush. 

“You aren’t very good with plants, _are_ you?” She means for her voice to come out teasing, but it must have too much snark in it because Josette silently fumes. 

“Weren’t you the student that ended up in the hospital wing because of one?” Her eyes sparkle with a fire that longs to be ignited. 

“That’s irrelevant,” Hope murmurs, her blue eyes becoming tentative. “Would—would you like some help?” 

The muggleborn gives one last, strong tug on the bush, nearly moving it out of its roots, before stepping aside and removing her hands. 

“I...yes, please.” Her words come out reluctantly. 

Hope moves along the bush, her breath catching in her throat as she gets close to Josette. The rain has made the air moist around them, and she suddenly finds it very difficult to breathe correctly. Her heart is beating quite quickly, too, which is weird. What’s happening to her? 

“You keep pulling on it,” Hope says, after a second of hesitance. “You need to twist and turn it out. See?” Hope then twists the berry out with two fingers. 

Josette hums, her eyes boring into the side of Hope’s head instead of watching the plant. 

“Why do you let everyone think that you’re heartless?” 

Hope whips her head around at the question, not expecting it. She finds that Josette is much closer than she had originally assumed. Her face is only inches away from Hope’s own, and she accidentally glances down to her lips before meeting her eyes. 

“What?” Her voice comes out rougher than she means it to. 

“You _want_ people to be afraid of you. You expect everyone to know that you’re better than them. But _you_ don’t even think that. Why are you pretending to?” The muggleborn leans in slightly, and Hope leans back, her back uncomfortably hitting the bush. 

She looks away, sucking in a harsh breath. 

“What makes you think I’m pretending?” Again, she doesn’t sound as confident as she would like to. 

“I have to believe that this is all an act,” Josette says softly, her eyebrows furrowing gently. “A person can’t be this horrible, not without a good reason.” 

The world pauses around them. The trees stop moving. Hope can’t feel the rain, and she thinks that maybe that’s stopped as well. She can only focus on the hopeful look Josette is giving her as she waits for a reply. 

But Hope can’t find a single thing to say. Her vocal cords feel paralyzed with no help of a silencing charm, and the bars of her teeth leave no space for any speech. All the words she could say become forgotten in the harsh beating of a frightened heart. 

Hope blinks and makes a decision. The world follows violently. The trees seem to blow more intensely, the rain begins to pour. Josette’s hopeful look drops into one of disappointment as she sees Hope close up in front of her. 

She summons all the strength in her body and moves passed the muggleborn, her feet heavy. Why was walking suddenly so _difficult_? 

“We should finish before Slughorn comes out,” she says emotionlessly, her face blank. 

When Josette sighs quietly, she pretends not to hear it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update, i’ve been really caught up in school work :( thanks for sticking with me anyways haha


	28. Chapter 28

Hope walks into her dorm room beyond tired, the rain still seeping into her clothes despite the several drying charms she had casted. 

She quickly sees that all her dormmates are awake. In fact, Maya runs up to her the second she flings the door open. 

Hope’s jaw goes slack when she sees her. 

Her skin’s rough green like the skin of a snake. Hope raises her eyebrows, trying desperately not to laugh. A small smirk slithers onto her face. 

“You have scales,” she observes. 

“So _nice_ of you to notice!” Maya spits out, practically foaming at the mouth.“Gryffindor settled the score during dinner. Got the whole lot of us Slytherins, they did...” 

She continues to vent, but Hope doesn’t hear any of it. 

“How do you know it was Gryffindor?” she asks over her rant. Maya pauses as she realizes that Hope said something. 

“Because they didn’t attack Sebastian,” she states, matter-of-fact, before grumbling again. “That arrogant git. His girlfriend was laughing the entire time. You have no idea how much I long to hex the smirk off of her face...” 

Hope ignores her words. She would deal with Sebastian tomorrow if he still hadn’t broken up with Elizabeth. 

“Wow.” She reaches out and pets her friend’s arm. “It even feels like snake skin.” 

Maya pulls her arm back quickly and smacks her as Hope laughs at the girl’s expense. “We’re going to get them back right?” 

Hope frowns, searching for the right words. She doesn’t think she can handle the prank war on top of everything else she’s dealing with. She could barely get her homework done over the past few weeks, and she still needs to schedule quidditch practices for next week’s game against Ravenclaw. 

“I don’t know, M,” she sighs, exhausted. “Maybe we should stop this here.” 

As if hearing something incredibly shocking, her other dormmates grow quiet and turn to look at Hope. The silence in the room is so stark that Hope can hear the patter of rain against the windows. 

Maya even stares at her in deep disbelief for a long couple of seconds before breaking out into laughter. She breathes out a sigh. “_Whew_. That was a good one. You really had me for a moment there.” 

She slaps her hand on Hope’s shoulder, still panting slightly from the exertion of laughing. “Tell me when you think of something. I’m going to sleep.” 

Hope purses her lips but doesn’t say anything, taking a quick shower and then going to bed herself.

In the morning, she goes to breakfast early with her friends, and stays longer than she usually does. She bends her head in odd angles at an attempt to peek at Josette who routinely sits at the Gryffindor table, but she never sees her. Elizabeth is absent as well, and Hope automatically searches for Sebastian, who isn’t at his normal spot at the Slytherin table. 

The fact that the three of them aren’t present sounds warning bells in Hope’s head, but she ignores it and tries to make herself eat. She’s not very successful, however, and barely picks at her food as she continues to send confused glances to the Gryffindor table. 

Hope doesn’t see Josette in any of her classes. She’s forced to make a potion by herself in Slughorn’s class, forced to go through a Transfiguration lesson without Josette whispering in her ear, forced to answer all of Professor Vector’s arithmancy problems with no competition. 

She stays behind her last class of the day, as if expecting Josette will appear even though the class has already ended. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” Rose asks her, leaning against a wall outside the classroom door so they can go to lunch together. Hope notices that the other girl is still slightly green from Gryffindor’s prank, but at least the scales have disappeared. 

“No,” she says, yet her feet stick to the floor like cement as she lingers. There’s no denying it anymore—Sebastian must have broken up with Elizabeth, and Josette is probably upset with her beyond belief. The three of them not attending any of their classes only means trouble for Hope. 

“Let’s hurry, then.” Rose pulls her arm, and she looks around once more before letting herself get basically dragged to the great hall. “I’m _starving_.” 

The both of them have barely walked passed the entrance when Hope hears her name yelled in utter resentment. 

“Mikaelson! How _dare_ you?!” The pureblood turns slowly, her eyes meeting Rose’s questioning look for a short moment, before finding a familiar figure storming forward. 

She freezes slightly, ice pooling uncomfortably beneath her skin. It traps itself between her veins with the ferocity of a thunderstorm before its lightning strikes, leaving her trembling in fear of what’s to come. She takes a quiet, deep breath and steels herself, her expression wavering before she places an uncaring mask on her face and focuses on the present. 

She quickly notices that Josette appears very pissed off, indeed. The pureblood hasn’t seen her all day, and she takes a small second to look over her.

The brunette’s not wearing her school uniform, but jeans and a green jumper. The skin beneath her eyes is deathly pale, and Hope has the thought that she looks exhausted. 

She gulps messily as the great hall hushes in silence to watch the exchange, and Josette stops a couple feet away from her, seemingly unaffected by the attention. Hope glances off to the side before responding, her voice cold, her face vacant of any emotion. In the corner of her eye, she sees Rose come up behind her. 

“How dare _I_?” Hope drawls, and Josette narrows her own eyes with indignation. If only the muggleborn hadn’t addressed her in front of everyone else, then maybe Hope could have handled things differently. “You’re the one making a scene.” 

“No.” The muggleborn shakes her head with conviction. Hope can’t help noticing the warm chocolate color of her eyes when she angles her head just right. “You know _exactly_ why I’m doing this.” 

Hope raises a numb eyebrow, wishing—_wishing_—things could be different. That was the thing with wishes, though, they had hardly ever come true for her. “Why don’t you enlighten me, then?” 

“Sebastian broke up with Lizzie last night.” 

The hall breaks out in hurried whispers, a goblet falls to the floor. A Hufflepuff’s spoon clangs horribly against their bowl of soup. A single professor from the staff’s table gasps. The pair ignore all of it. 

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” Hope states with no small hint of haughtiness, her voice slightly rough even though she’s trying to portray herself as disinterested. 

“You _forced_ him to!” 

“So?” Hope’s lip curls. She wonders if the entire great hall can see the way she’s almost trembling. With how close she is to her, Rose definitely can. “You should be happy.” 

“_Happy_? My sister could barely get out of bed this morning!” Josie sounds incredulous, broken laughter passing her lips to ring sharply in Hope’s ears. A corner of the pureblood’s mouth snaps downwards before stretching into a thin line. 

“Frankly,” Hope lowers her voice dangerously, her eyes glinting in the light of some floating candles nearby. “I could not care less, Saltzman.” 

The hall mutes around them once again. The silence is too harsh on her ears now. The absence of sound begins to buzz around her head and makes her dizzy. 

“I...I don’t believe that.” Josette’s throat bobs with...anxiety? Pain? Desperation? 

The muggleborn’s lips part before closing. Hope’s heart comes to a painful stop within her chest.

_Did_ Hope care? Of course not. No, the ache in her bones, her blood, her heart—that was not _anything_ at all, that was _nothing_. 

_ What does she expect me to say? Does she think that I can just profess my undying love for everything muggle and move on?  _

Hope’s stomach clenches unbearably. Her thoughts scream—_no, no, no_—but she opens her mouth anyways. Her real response lies in the pause between them. “You sound like an idiot. I don’t give a damn about you or your sister. Now leave me the hell alone.” 

Her words are weak, her voice cracking at the edges. The old Hope Mikaelson would have told Josette to go rot in Azkaban, to go back to playing in the mud. The old her would have called Josette much more than an idiot. 

The muggleborn just stands in front of her unmoving, her eyes narrowed but not with hostility, her body turned away even though she’s facing Hope. Just when it looks like she’s about to say something, she doesn’t. She simply steps back, the rough cut of her gaze digging beneath Hope’s skin, and walks away. 

Hope’s eyes follow her until she exits the great hall, her mouth sputtering as if she wants to call her back or do something equivalently stupid. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth like acid and something heavier she can’t quite place. 

She turns back around, finding the entire great hall staring at her expectantly. She glares at everyone with enough heat for them to turn back to their insignificant, immature conversations. 

Hope glances quickly at the staff table before sitting down with Rose at the Slytherin table—she doesn’t care enough to worry about getting in trouble. It’s not like she and the muggleborn had _dueled_ or anything. 

But for _just_ a second, she thinks about how peculiar it is that the headmaster or her head of house hadn’t intervened, but she still misses the concerned looks the professors are giving each other all the same. 

Ethan raises his eyebrows as the great hall fills with noise once again. “That was...” 

“Embarrassing,” Penelope finishes for him. Hope tilts her head in confusion, her eyes still clouded over from moments ago. “She _humiliated_ you, and you let her! You allowed her to tear into you like some insolent child!” 

Hope snaps her head up, clenching her teeth. Rose jumps to hold her back from starting a fight, and Ethan does the same with Penelope. Maya just laughs. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Okay, stop!” Rose yells before Penelope can answer. “You both are going to shut up, and we’re _all_ going to eat in peace, got it?” 

Penelope grumbles underneath her breath but listens, and Hope does the same. They all sit in awkward silence for the next couple of minutes, with Maya and Ethan mouthing words to each other across the table, and the scrape of Penelope’s fork against her plate getting on Hope’s last nerve. When Rose finally allows them to leave, Hope is the first one up. 

She spends the rest of the day in her room, and only comes down after everyone’s eaten dinner when Maya forces her to. 

That’s how she finds herself sitting in front of the common room fireplace once again. Her hands are freezing to the point where her fingernails are purple—they had a tendency to do that whenever she was particularly nervous—and she rubs them furiously in front of the flames. 

The common room is uncharacteristically busy for a Tuesday night, and all her friends are packed tightly on a couch. She herself sits on a large armchair, her blue eyes contrasting the flames flickering in front of her face. The muscles in her back are knotted uncomfortably, and her usually pristine posture is slacking. Her robes feel heavy, too, like they’re suffocating her instead of providing warmth. 

To put it bluntly, she feels on edge, her thoughts hundreds of feet away from the Slytherin common room. She wonders if Josette is in the Gryffindor dorms taking care of her sister. She wonders if she attended dinner, because Hope certainly hadn’t. She wonders if—her chest _convulses_—the muggleborn still hates her. 

Hope feels a hand on her shoulder and turns slightly. She relaxes when she recognizes its owner. 

“Are you still upset from earlier?” Rose implores quietly, but not quietly enough for Penelope to not hear. 

“She _should_ be,” she cuts in. Hope stands up slowly from her chair to get a good look at her. “The nerve of that mudblood. She should worship the ground you walk on—“ 

“Drop it, P,” Rose interrupts tiredly, much like earlier. “She’s not feeling well.” 

“_Obviously_, letting a mudblood get one over her and all.” Penelope gets off of the couch she’s laying on. “There has to be some kind of sickness involved.” 

“She said drop it,” Hope growls, her jaw setting dangerously, and a couple of the people around her pause their conversations to get a glimpse of the impending argument. 

“Going _soft_, Mikaelson?” Penelope smirks, just the way she knows will boil Hope’s blood. White-hot anger courses through her veins and heats her skin. She snarls slightly, her fists clenched at her sides. Her vision lines with red, and her heart begins to pound with want for blood. “You should have cursed that bitch for even _approaching_ you in public. Maybe you really _are_ a blood traitor—“ 

Hope finally understands why Sebastian had punched the shit out of Milton Greasley in the split of a second. She understands how he could have made that decision so quickly, she understands the monster that had overcome him in that moment. 

The only sign Penelope gets before Hope lunges is bared teeth and furious eyes and then Hope is sending a firm fist right across her face. The jagged cut of Hope’s family ring swipes against the girl’s cheekbone and spills a sharp line of blood. 

Penelope clutches at her eye as Hope steps back, and then all hell breaks loose. Penelope leaps at her with the same passion of rage and they become a mess of limbs on the ground. Not expecting the weight against her chest, all the air is forced out of her lungs and Penelope gets a solid hit against her mouth, splitting her bottom lip. 

In the next second, Hope bucks up and reverses their positions, drawing her fist back to deliver another brutal blow before someone else’s hand closes around her arm and then she’s pulled up and away from Penelope. 

“Are you two absolutely _mental_?!” Rose screams, the harsh pitch of her voice in the near silent room making the pureblood cringe. 

Hope pants slightly, wiping at the blood on her mouth with her free hand. She turns back to look at the person that has such a tight hold on her—Ethan. “Release me, Machado.” 

“Nope.” 

She turns back to Penelope, who Maya is pulling back by her hair. She becomes satisfied to see that the girl’s left eye is completely shut. _Good_. 

“Let me at her!” Penelope yells, moving her arms and legs frantically to break free of Maya’s grip. 

“Can you even _see_ me?” Hope laughs, getting the sudden urge to perform the Cruciatus curse on her friend. 

Penelope growls, looking her up and down. “How’s that split lip going for you, Mikaelson?” 

The smile falls off of Hope’s face for only a flicker of a second before she puts it back on. 

“Why? Would you like one, too?” Hope grins with malice, attempting to jump out of Ethan’s hold but he grabs her once again. 

“No!” Rose gets in between them, her chest rising and falling quickly. “This ends _here_! You two are best friends, and this is _not_ how friends behave.” 

“But—“ 

“Shut up!” she snaps at Penelope. “_You_, go to your room and get some sleep. Do not even _think_ about showing your face until the morning!” 

Hope mocks Penelope as Maya leads her up the stairs, to which Rose snaps at her as well. “And _you_! Take a walk, clear your head, whatever. Just don’t do it here! I can’t even _look_ at you, I’m so mad!” 

Ethan finally releases her once Penelope is a safe distance away, and Hope gives Rose one last enraged look before marching through the bodies that part for her to the common room door and flinging it open. 

Just before it closes, she can hear a scatter of smothered murmurs—the beginnings of gossip and rumors. 

She closes her eyes in a terrible attempt to gather herself, but her fists stay clenched all the same. She begins to walk aimlessly around the nearby hallways, trying to keep the ache of her mouth at bay. 

She can barely frown correctly without feeling the dried blood in the cracks of her lips, the bottom portion of her mouth awfully swollen. Merlin, her knuckles hurt, too. She’s not very good at healing spells, though, so she doesn’t do anything about it. And she definitely isn’t going to visit the hospital wing. That would be almost shameful. 

Not as shameful as starting the fight to begin with, however. What was she _thinking_? She _hadn’t_ been, simply. Her anger had consumed her so entirely that she could not ignore the throb for violence in her bones. Sebastian had been right—just hitting Penelope with a spell would not satisfy her hardly enough, she had _needed_ to feel the skin below her fist, she had _needed_ to feel the damage she was doing _herself_. 

Hope walks for about thirty minutes in near darkness before shewanders into another person—namely one Professor Snape, in all of his usual, tedious glory.

He acknowledges her with a nod and they almost walk by each other before he stops her. She sighs quietly and faces him, trying to turn away from the lantern he’s holding to hide her mouth.

“Miss Mikaelson? May I ask why you look so....disturbed?” Hope flushes slightly, bristling underneath Snape’s attention. Just because he was a family friend, did not mean he could ask her how she was doing. 

She flexes her fingers, her knuckles bruised slightly but hidden over the length of her sleeve. Her muscles feel sore and aching more than they had in front of the fire now. She begins to think that punching Penelope had not been worth it. 

“It’s nothing, sir,” she says, and Snape blinks with irritation at being openly challenged. He looks around the corridor, maybe checking for other students, before sighing with discontent. 

He steps forward, his eyes kind but unrelenting. 

“I do not believe it _is_, Hope,” he tells her, the harsh knit of his eyebrows gone. “What is the matter with you? Your robes are wrinkled, your hair is tangled, your tie is crooked. You appear to be a mess.” 

Hope runs a hand through her hair and adjusts her tie with her other one, her shoulders deflating with the effort of putting on an act. 

She gives up. 

“I got into...a brawl...of sorts with Park.” She glares into the floor. She does not mention why. “You’ll most likely have to give me detention for it later, when she inevitably rats me out.” 

“Hmm,” Snape hums, not acting very surprised. “That explains the split lip. Did you at least have a good reason?”

_“I have to believe that this is all an act. A person can’t be this horrible, not without a good reason.”_

“I...” She swallows thickly. “Yes, I think so.” 

“Very well, Miss Mikaelson.” He nods, a blatant dismissal, and Hope turns away before he calls her back, something like mischief in his eyes. But, no, that can’t be right, can it? 

“In stressful times such as these,” he says, a corner of his mouth upturning. “I find a soothing bath works wonders. If I can recall, this floor happens to have a private restroom where one can come by such relief.” 

Hope furrows her eyebrows as she thinks about it. “You mean the Prefect bathroom? I’m not a Prefect, sir.” 

“The exact details escape me,” he continues, as if she hasn’t spoken at all. He looks passed her like he’s talking to himself or contemplating deeply. “What was the password? Something about fizzing whizbees?” 

“Right, thank you, Professor.” She smirks slightly, and he snaps out of his daze, his dull, dark eyes twinkling like she had never seen before. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would have thought he was being a pervert. 

“Of course.” He walks away, and Hope walks passed him in the direction of the bathroom. She usually doesn’t give into such pleasures of taking a relaxing bath, but tonight she really needs it.

Yes. She needs a nice bath. A nice, long, hot shower where she can relax. Somewhere where she can cool her knuckles off and wash her mouth from blood. And Snape was kind enough to inform her of just the place that could give her such a reprieve. It was only _polite_ that she listen. Plus, the bathroom did have scented bubbles and powered jets. 

“Fizzing whizbees,” Hope recites, hoping that Snape hadn’t screwed her over. The lock pops open and Hope opens the door, lost in her thoughts. 

She shrugs off her robe the second she locks the door. She then unzips her pants and tugs them to the floor, realizing that she had not been in here for quite a while, actually. The last time was the middle of her fifth year, back when she had simply bullied the password of out of the current Prefects. 

Hope is in the middle of undoing the buttons on her white long-sleeved when she notices that someone else is in the bathroom. In fact, that someone is in the large bath tub, large pink and clear bubbles foaming the water around them. 

The pureblood stands stricken to her spot, her hand pausing from the button it’s struggling with as she instantly recognizes brown hair in a messy bun and a tanned backside. Her mouth runs dry, and she desperately swallows to no relief. 

_ What are the fucking odds?  _

Hope’s eyes widen comically at the sight of the muggleborn—clearly naked and enjoying the jets from the look of it—but Josette’s not facing her, so Hope can’t really see much of anything at all. She decides to just sneak out before she looks like a creep, and sheleans down to grab her pants when Josette _turns around_, everything below her shoulders—thank Merlin—hidden by the water.

The brunette screams, throwing the loofah in her hand directly at Hope. 

It hits the pureblood in the face, painting her skin with soap and water and getting into her sensitive eyes.

_ Seriously?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi thank you all for reading and your wonderful comments :) they really made my day when i read them yesterday and i can’t wait to reply to them shortly!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg so to whoever made that insta hosie edit when i tell you i fucking screameddd haha, that was really well done and so good, and then someone else commented to check twitter and let me just say i had no idea that people were actually following this story and waiting for updates so much, like i think someone even made a gc or something? i am honestly so flattered and love you all and appreciate you guys so much :)

“Is it done?” 

The professors wait with bated breath for Snape’s response. It comes, but not with any great pleasure. 

“Yes.” 

Dumbledore smiles with no teeth, his eyes shining faintly. Some other professors do not hold the same sentiment. 

“Albus,” McGonagall speaks up, her fragile fingers pulling against each other in stress. “Are we handling this correctly?” 

Dumbledore knits his white eyebrows together as some of the teachers murmur in agreement. 

“I question the ethics as well, Headmaster,” Professor Vector adds. Not twenty minutes ago, she had manipulated her star pupil into a romantic trap, and for what? A foolish love prophecy? “Taking advantage of my relationship with a student is not what I signed up for in coming here. It seems...that we are going about this in the _wrong_ way.” 

“It is for the greater good,” Dumbledore says quickly, almost lashing out. But within the next second, his shoulders and facial muscles relax and Professor Vectors wonders if his reaction had only been a figment of her imagination. Another professor knows that he had not imagined anything at all. 

“The _greater good_?” Snape inquires, smirking in distaste. “I essentially condemned Miss Saltzman to...” 

He searches for the right words to say, his face uncharacteristically flushing. “...Risk exposure to a known adversary. Surely, the humiliation _must_ be unfathomable.” 

“I ask you to keep an open mind, Severus,” the old man requests. Snape huffs slightly. “All of you bore witness to the day’s events, did you not? As unjust as it might appear and—at the risk of sounding vulgar—the pair becoming..._intimate_...is in our best interest as the protectors of this school.” 

“You underestimate a Slytherin’s tenacity, Albus,” Severus says, a line crinkling into his forehead. He did not need to hear the word ‘intimate’ come from that man’s lips ever again. “Quite literally _throwing_ them together in an amorous setting is not enough.” 

“I could make the same argument that you underestimate an adolescent’s inclination towards sexual gratification,” Albus says seriously, no smile or crack to his voice. 

McGonagall nearly faints. 

In the corner, dear Slughorn finds himself nauseous. 

—

“What are you doing in here?!” 

Hope watches as the muggleborn submerges herself so deeply into the water at an attempt to hide her body that she coughs out bubbles. The pureblood carefully places a lewd smirk onto her face. 

“I followed you in to see if I could join you,” she husks, smoldering her gaze. Josette pinks and parts her lips, making some weird noise at the back of her throat like she’s choking on water before Hope pulls a face and looks at her like she’s crazy. “Of course _not_! I was going to take a bath!” 

“_In here_?!” Josette shrieks again, and Hope rolls her eyes, putting her pants back on and buttoning her shirt. She feels slightly weird doing it in front of the other girl but it’s better than feeling exposed. 

“No, I clearly took off my clothes here with the intent of doing it somewhere else,” she mutters sarcastically, rolling up her sleeves and wiping the soap in her eyes with her robe. She curses the loofah at her feet. “What are you even doing in here? You’re not a prefect.” 

“You aren’t _either_!” Josette retorts, ignoring the girl’s sardonic remark. She believes she has every right to question Hope considering the circumstance. 

“Snape gave me the password,” she gloats, forgetting momentarily that Josette had to know the password to get in. She also forgets how that sentence can be interpreted. 

“_Eww_!” Josette’s face contorts in disgust. Hope curls her own lip as she understands the implications of her statement. “Can you be gross and illegal someplace else?” 

“I still have to take a bath,” Hope complains, her nose upturned in that snobbish way she knows Josette hates. 

“Get. _Out_!” 

Hope sneers and turns away, completely fine that she won’t be taking a relaxing bath tonight. She hadn’t wanted to anyways. Screw the scented water. Screw the jets and bubbles. Whatever. 

Hope has one hand on the door knob when she hears a small, reluctant voice. 

“Wait.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly. Josette looks like she’s going to die of embarrassment. “Could—could you maybe hand me the loofah? I’m not done yet.” 

Hope wants to tell her that she can just summon the loofah herself, but it seems that Josette’s quite flustered because she’s forgotten what magic is. 

“Why don’t you come out and get it?” she asks, crossing her arms. Josette sighs. She doesn’t look very angry anymore. Just tired. 

“I’m naked,” she states plainly. Hope averts her eyes, not realizing that her question could have come out as flirtatious. “Don’t be a perv.” 

“Besides, it’s the least you could do,” she adds, floating closer in the water. Hope arches an eyebrow, a silent question in the space between them. Josette answers. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about earlier. You broke my sister’s heart, and then called me an idiot in front of the whole school. I won’t ever forgive you for that.” 

“I...” Hope nods, her head spinning at how confidently Josette said those words—like she was completely and utterly sure, as if she had resigned herself and no longer cared. Reality hits the pureblood like a splash of water to the face. The comical situation had allowed her to forget about what had transpired during lunch, but Josette’s words are a harsh reminder. Her own words come out trimmed. “Right. Of course.” 

How could she have _ever_ hoped differently? 

How could she have hoped—

The pureblood can’t ignore the hurt gathering thickly in her body, can’t ignore the tiny frown of her lips and the crinkle between her eyes. The hurt is there in her back when she bends down to pick up the loofah, it’s there in her legs when she walks the short distance to the large tub, it’s there in her arm when she hands it over. 

She’s hurt, and hurt Hope Mikaelson falls back into vindictive, childish antics. 

Just before Josette can grab the loofah, Hope pulls it just out of her reach, and the muggleborn almost loses her balance. She braces a hand on the side of the tub and glares at Hope. 

Hope’s eye lingers on the prominence of her collarbone before the skin disappears back underneath the water and she glances away, oddly flushed. 

“Give it to me.” 

“Say please.” 

“Give. It.” 

Hope leans down. 

“Why don’t you ask _nicely_?” 

Josette grabs her tie and tugs her forward, probably only trying to get the loofah, but it causes Hope to slip on a wet spot on the tile. 

She hits her head on the faucet and falls into the tub with a big splash, biting her lip on the way down and exacerbating the pain in her mouth from earlier. 

She allows herself to sink for a small moment before throwing her head up and spluttering out water and soap. Her robes are completely soaked, and the water is so, so hot. 

“What the fuck was that for?” she seethes, her hair sticking wetly to her face. Damn it, her lip hurts so bad. 

The loofah floats in the water, no longer in Hope’s hold, and Josette quickly grabs it. “Thank you.”

Hope opens her mouth and then closes it as she realizes that the muggleborn’s talking to the loofah and not her. She frowns, and attempts to stand up, only to slip again and fall back with heavy clothes. Water droplets stick to her eyelashes. 

“You can go now,” Josette tells her sweetly, wading away from her and to the opposite side of the tub. It’s large enough to fit more than four people, Hope thinks. Actually, calling it a simple bath tub is an _understatement_—it’s more like a small pool. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hope growls, trying to appear threatening. It doesn’t work. 

“You know,” Josette says absentmindedly, and Hope reminds herself that the other girl is naked, and that she’s currently in the same vicinity as her, and if she moved a couple of feet forward she could probably touch her. Her abdomen twists at the thought. “You’re not so scary when you look like a drowned puppy.” 

“Well, you’re not a good judge of what’s scary or not.” She sits up, wringing out her robe and throwing it off to the side. 

Josette looks at her curiously. 

“Considering you’re scared of a broom, I mean,” she clarifies, her voice losing its mean streak. The water actually feels quite nice against her skin, now that she thinks about it. Even through her clothes, it relieves the soreness in her muscles. She can barely feel her throbbing knuckles anymore. 

“I told you, I’m not afraid of brooms, I’m afraid of heights,” Josette says pointedly, drifting a little too close to Hope’s liking, a challenge in her eyes. 

Hope backs up until her shoulders hit the side of the tub. Why is she still coming closer? 

“What are _you_ scared of?” 

Hope parts her lips with surprise, not expecting the question. She can’t think of an answer, and the water suddenly feels freezing around her. She becomes numb to it. 

“N-nothing.” Her teeth chatter. Josette’s face turns soft. Hope hates it. She hates how she automatically regains feeling in her body at the girl’s kind eyes, how the water changes temperature along with her heart. 

“Then why do you act like everyone’s out to get you?” Her lips are nearly red with the warmth of the liquid coating it, and Hope focuses on the couple strands of hair framing her face. If she lets her eyes slip, she could catch another glimpse of the muggleborn’s collarbone. 

Hope sighs quietly, looking away. 

“I...you wouldn’t understand.” She moves to sit up, evidently trying to get out of the tub. She’s been here for too long already—she’s overstayed her welcome, and if she lingers for just a moment more she might crumble completely. 

Josette pushes a single hand against her shirt to stop her, and Hope pauses. She reminds herself that the other girl is naked, and that she needs to leave before she does something stupid, but the thought clamps down onto her limbs and paralyzes her. 

She finds herself staring into the other girl’s eyes, and her heart jumps into her throat when Josette’s gaze strays down to her lips.

_ Is she...? _

“You’re bleeding.” 

Hope barely hears it. 

“Mhmm?” she hums, wondering if she can just steal one kiss, and then she would never ever have to again. Just one taste...

“You’re bleeding,” Josette repeats, and Hope snaps slightly out of it. 

“Oh.” Her breath exhales like a whimper, a sound of memory and longing. She can barely hear herself over the thick pounding of her heart and the high setting of the jets. “Yes.” 

Josette looks like she wants to ask what happened, but Hope appreciates that she doesn’t. Instead, the muggleborn reaches out as if to touch the busted lip before pulling her hand back quickly. She glances away nervously. “I can heal it, if you’d like?” 

“Sure,” Hope says, her voice not sounding exactly her own. She feels like she might explode if Josette gets any closer. She almost asks the girl if she needs her wand, before remembering that the muggleborn is pretty adept at wandless magic. 

“Episkey,” Josette murmurs, her finger so close to Hope’s mouth that it nearly brushes it. She backs up slightly, and Hope finds herself pulled forward like a magnet. 

All at once, the tenderness that had remained gnawing at her bottom lip lessens to normalcy, and she feels no pain when she parts them to inhale. 

“Is that better?”

Merlin, she’s so fucking close. 

Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes fall upon plump, pouty lips, and her eyes darken like the depths of an ocean. 

“Yeah,” she answers, her voice slightly husky, leaning in just barely enough to catch Josette’s eyes flicker between her lips. She attempts to stay still, but can’t help herself when Josette leans in as well, her eyes fluttering shut. Later, Hope will blame what she does on the steam. She’ll claim that the heat made her head foggy, and nothing else.

Their lips meet wantonly, passionately, like they had never stopped in the first place, like they have never known air to begin with. Everything about it is natural, like their magical cores have existed for centuries and have danced this waltz for just as many years. The magic thrums around them and inside of them, surrounding the air and sparking just beneath Hope’s skin. 

Josette tangles her hands in Hope’s hair, tilting her head slightly to give the pair a better angle. Hope finds herself greedily pushing back, tasting the rose scent of the water and the dark chocolate she had grown addicted to since Halloween night. 

How had she survived three lousy days without it? 

Hope backs off to steady herself in the water, and Josette’s lips follow, seemingly unwilling toallow for a moment’s separation. Hope bites back a moan as Josette’s nails scratch lightly again her scalp, her tongue running along the pureblood’s bottom lip. The pureblood’s hands tremble at her sides.

The pureblood doesn’t dare touch the other girl, though, because she’s naked and—_Merlin_—this is so, _so_ inappropriate. This is so inappropriate, because she’s a Mikaelson and Josette’s a Saltzman. Not just a Saltzman, but she’s also a _muggleborn_, and Hope should hate her, should absolutely _despise_ her but—

She can’t deny the electricity shooting throughout her joints and igniting her entire body with energy, can’t deny the flames licking at her spine and setting her nerve endings on fire. 

Josette sighs against her mouth, a sweet, perfectly-pitched sound that has Hope’s fingers gripping against water, itching to get her hands on her. But Hope’s fully clothed, and Josette’s clearly not, and that would be—_yes_—inappropriate. 

The trance entrapping them both ends not thirty seconds later. 

“Jo?” someone nearly screams, so high-pitched and familiar that Hope cringes. “Are you _seriously_ taking a bath right now? I _know_ you’re in there! The portraits told me they saw you come in!”

Only Elizabeth Saltzman could perfect such a nagging quality to her voice. 

Hope and Josette lock eyes wearing similar panicked expressions, and the muggleborn all but dives away from her. She doesn’t say anything, just sitting in the water with widened eyes. 

Hope rolls her own eyes after a long period of silence and Lizzie repeating herself to no answer. Then she opens her mouth, and in her best, most-poutiest impersonation of Josette Saltzman, she says, “Uh, yes, dear sister of mine!” 

Josette slaps her shoulder furiously and Hope just smirks as Elizabeth responds, not noticing the difference. 

“Well, are you going to let me in or _not_? I don’t know the password,” her voice comes from the door, impatient. 

“Yeah, sorry!” Josette raises her hands against the bath tub like she wants to stand up and Hope watches her in confusion. The muggleborn gives her a very sharp look and Hope tilts her head to the side, not immediately catching on. 

“Turn around!” Josette whisper-yells, and Hope understands very suddenly. She turns so quickly in the water that it splashes her in the face. 

She clenches her eyes shut even though she’s not facing the other girl, the sound of feet pattering against the tile and fabric rustling reaching her ears. After more than ten seconds, Hope grows slightly restless.

“Are you done?” she asks, and Josette hushes her. 

“Stop talking!” she tells her, and Hope peeks over to find her wearing a white bathrobe. She turns and faces her fully. “You need to hide!” 

“Where?” Hope drawls, stating the obvious. She thinks the brunette’s overreacting. “It’s an open room.” 

Josette hurries over to her, and Hope leans back slightly, not knowing if the muggleborn is going to perform a cloaking charm or disillusionment spell on her. 

“What’s taking so long?” The same irritating voice grits on Hope’s skin like sandpaper. 

“Coming!” Josette yells, before looking at Hope apologetically and lowering her voice. “Sorry about this.” 

Hope’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious—“

Josette then takes her hand and presses it roughly against Hope’s head, dunking her underneath the water before she can even take a last, bracing breath. 

Hope yelps into the water, only sucking in liquid as she realizes that the other girl is expecting her to drown just to cover both their asses. 

Hope stays underneath the bubbles with loathed resignation, the jets covering all traces of her person in the bath. She tries to hold her breath for as long as possible, her lungs aching painfully with the effort. 

She begins to count the seconds to distract herself, but soon her head starts pounding and she gets the feeling that she’s going to die very soon. She doesn’t know how long Josette is going to take, but she hopes that she’ll get rid of her sister somehow soon. 

When Hope can’t hold her breath any longer, she inhales the water. It cloys into her mouth and hits sharply in her nose, and just when she’s accepted that she’s going to die, a hand pulls her hair up and out of the water. 

She gasps, water shooting down her nose and out of her mouth, her chest heaving with new air. She recovers after a full minute, her breath still coming out as small pants. Her throat stings with discomfort and she glares up at Josette, her jaw clenching.    
  


“Aww, don’t be so grumpy,” the muggleborn tells her, and Hope narrows her bloodshot eyes. 

“You tried to _drown_ me!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episkey: heals small injuries like broken noses and split lips


	30. Chapter 30

Hope watches as Josette moves frantically around the bathroom. Her thoughts are still racing from the sequence of events that had gotten her here. It almost feels like some kind of weird dream—one where she had walked in on the muggleborn, kissed her, and then nearly got caught. 

“I’m sorry,” Josette apologizes, reaching for a bundle of clothes on the sink countertop Hope hadn’t noticed before. The girl tucks it underneath her arm distractedly, her messy bun completely unraveled. Hope’s eyes dilate at the pretty picture in front of her. “I couldn’t risk Lizzie seeing you.” 

“No, I get why,” the pureblood murmurs, her voice too soft, and she clears her throat in an attempt to keep her resolve. She’s already appeared too weak tonight. She can’t allow herself to do so again. Hope stands up and twists the hem of her dripping-wet shirt out, and swings a leg over the tub. Her pants stick to her uncomfortably. “You couldn’t have just done a cloaking spell or something?” 

“Oh, I kind of forgot about magic.” Josette smiles sheepishly, still not meeting Hope’s eyes. Had she regretted everything? Does she think the kiss was a mistake? “But I tried to get rid of her as quickly as possible if that makes you feel better.” 

“_Thanks_,” Hope nearly bites out, her mind buzzing. Does Josie still hate her? Her throat bobs with the intensity of her heart attempting to jump up it. She takes a step forward and tries to painstakingly shimmy out of her tight pants. Merlin, it’s so hard. She can barely focus on something so simple. She wants to ask all kinds of questions, but settles back into sarcasm instead. “Your kindness knows no bounds.” 

Josette turns around to fix her with an exasperated look, and quickly turns back. Hope knows she’s blushing. “Oh my god! What are you doing?” 

_God_. That wasn’t the first time Hope had heard the muggleborn say that, yet she still finds herself confused. Is it a muggle term or something? 

The pureblood drops her pants to the floor with a heavy, slick thud and reaches at her neck for the tie that had started to choke her in the past couple of minutes. “Changing.” 

“In front of me?” Hope almost smirks at the expression on her face. “You didn’t even bring any _clothes_ with you.” 

Hope just shrugs, slowing down her movements a little. Josette sighs, a heavy, embittered sound. “Ugh, nevermind. I—I have to go. Lizzie had another...episode.” 

An _episode_? 

Josette flashes across the room to the door before Hope can blink, and—for just an instant—she panics. 

“What?” Hope breathes, furious at herself for even calling after the other girl. “You’re just _leaving_?” 

She loathes how desperate she sounds—absolutely abhors the fragile tint to her voice, completely _despises_ the pleading trembling in her feet like she might just chase after her. 

Josette stops in front of the door. She taps her fingers against the handle like she’s frustrated, before looking over her shoulder back at Hope. 

“Are you going to apologize to Sebastian and Lizzie?”

Hope falters. 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Josette ignores her. 

“Are you?” 

She opens her mouth, but no sound makes it way passed parted lips. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t have to. Her reply is clear without words. Josette sends her one last, painful look of disappointment before sliding herself through the door and disappearing entirely.

Hope locks the door after her, and only then does she begin to catch her breath. It comes to her like a blizzard, all at once and unrelenting. She sits down on the edge of the bath to steady herself, wondering if, if—

No. She knows. 

Josie _had_ regretted it. 

—

Hope slathers cream cheese angrily on her bagel, the restless chatter of the great hall only aggravating her irritation. Her muscles are still sore despite the bath she had taken after Josette left, and she had not slept well at all, her thoughts completely and utterly violated by the frustrating muggleborn. The frustrating muggleborn who she had kissed just a couple of hours before. 

To make matters even _worse_, someone had healed Penelope’s black eye, and now Hope can’t even get any enjoyment out of seeing _that_. 

“Can you stop being so _gross_?” Maya whispers across from her, eyeing the bagel in her hand with disgust as Hope angrily takes a bite out of it and glances at Penelope. Their friend group had remained awkward the entire morning, no one talking about the fight but the hundreds of gossiping students around them. 

“How am I being gross?” Hope asks, seething. She should have punched Penelope harder. The still-present throb in her bruised knuckles was not worth it. Maybe she could have Josette heal—

_No_. 

“You’re eating a bagel with mayo,” Maya deadpans, lifting up a spoon of oatmeal. Hope chokes and drops the bagel. She had not even noticed that she had grabbed mayonnaise instead of cream cheese. Merlin, she was so out of it. She hadn’t tasted the difference at all. 

An ear-splitting shriek allows Hope to focus on something else. It comes from the Gryffindor table, close to where Hope had been watching Josette for the last ten minutes. 

The students all turn in their seats to watch, some even swaying dangerously in their seats to get a better look. 

Hope’s eyes set on Milton Greasley, a red, animated letter in front of him, screaming as if it’s a real person. 

“_MILTON GREASLEY_!” 

Oh. A howler. Thank Merlin her parents are above such public embarrassment. They have a reputation to uphold anyways. 

However, Hope Mikaelson is not above watching _others_ embarrass _themselves_. 

“I CANNOT—_CANNOT_—BELIEVE YOU! GETTING INTO A FIGHT WITH ANOTHER STUDENT?” the letter shrieks in, what Hope imagines, is Milton’s mother’s voice. The boy shrinks back with humiliation. “WHEN HAVE I EVER, _EVER_, TAUGHT YOU THAT VIOLENCE IS THE ANSWER? I AM COMPLETELY REPULSED BY YOUR BEHAVIOR. I HAVE HALF THE MIND TO FLOO OVER RIGHT THIS INSTANT, IF NOT FOR YOUR SICK, AILING FATHER, WHO IS EQUALLY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU. NOW, YOU WILL APOLOGIZE TO THAT POOR BOY, OR YOU WILL LEAVE ME NO CHOICE BUT TO THROW OUT YOUR CHUDLEY CANNONS COLLECTION! UNDERSTOOD?” 

The scared boy nods, his head almost falling off with the hysterical movement. “YOU BEST BE NODDING YOUR HEAD RIGHT NOW!” 

Milton only begins to nod quicker, and Hope thinks he looks very silly, indeed. 

The letter then leans back, as if to say goodbye, and explodes into ashes that fall all over Milton’s breakfast and soils his morning soup. 

The great hall erupts into laughter, and even Hope snickers along with her friends. She meets Penelope’s eye on accident, who is also snickering, and the two laugh together for a small second before realizing themselves and dropping their smiles. 

Hope looks away and back to the Gryffindor table, her eyes unwittingly searching for Josette’s own reaction. She finds that the girl has her head thrown back, giggling at her friend’s expense. 

She calms down a moment later and meets Hope’s eye from across the room. Something in the pureblood’s stomach _jolts_ and she sucks in a breath at having been caught staring. Hope watches as the brunette’s cheeks tinge with pink before she gives a slight wave with her fingers, and Hope nods imperceptibly before focusing back to her disgusting bagel. 

She tries to act bored and disinterested, but her heart is pounding, like it’s trying to escape the cage of her ribs and do something stupid. All she did was look at the girl, yet she feels the same as when they had kissed. 

The bell rings shortly and the students begin to file out of the great hall. Rose, Maya, and Penelope make their way to Potions with Rose standing between the two fighting girls. They don’t talk the entire way there, and if Rose makes a bitter comment underneath her breath, Hope pretends not to hear it. 

She sits down at her usual spot, and Josette comes in a moment later with her friend from Ravenclaw. Hope watches her secretly behind the cauldron she’s set out on the table as she sits down. 

Slughorn assigns them one potion or another, Hope really isn’t paying attention, and the class begins to drift back into whispered conversations. 

“You got into a _fight_?!” Josette hisses at one point, thirty minutes after the class has begun and they haven’t spoken once. Hope almost sighs in relief despite the topic—the silence had been _killing_ her. 

“Who told you that?” Hope whispers harshly back, stirring the potion—she had figured out they were making the Draught of Living Death potion half-way through—clockwise and trying to act preoccupied. 

“Does it matter?” Josette asks impatiently. “The whole school’s talking about it!” 

Hope doesn’t answer, not knowing how to explain it well. How can she ever describe what happened without Josette getting more pissed off? 

She needs to think of something to say...

Five minutes pass before Hope breaks the silence again. 

“So, you never told me how you got the bathroom password...” she trails off, trying to change the subject. Hope thinks Josette won’t let her until the other girl strangely blushes. That’s...odd?

“Actually,” she says, looking embarrassed, “Professor Vector told me it.” 

Hope raises her eyebrows, remembering the other girl’s hypocritical response when she had said that Snape gave her the password. 

“You suggested that _I_ had an inappropriate relationship with a teacher when _you_ came by the password in the exact same way?” Josette flushes slightly, cutting an ingredient with more force than she needs to and the knife scrapes loudly against the table. 

Hope leans back, realizing a deeper connection in the space it takes for Josette to form a response.

“Hold on.” She becomes confused. “Vector? That’s...peculiar. What did she say to you?” 

What are the odds that they had been approached by two teachers on the same night to perform the same task? 

Josette doesn’t catch on as quickly. 

“I...I don’t know,” Josette shrugs, slightly flustered and appearing as though she wants to move on from this subject. “—That I looked stressed out and that taking a nice bath might help.” 

Hope finds those words terribly familiar. She leans in, her eyes focused on the potion but her mind swarming with possibilities. 

“No, what did she say _exactly_?” 

Josette looks at her like she’s an alien. 

“Why are you being weird?” 

“I’m not,” Hope insists. “Now, what did she say?”

Josette looks at her like she’s an alien with two heads this time. 

“Are you trying to relive the night or something?” she asks. “If so, you can leave me out of your creepy fantasies...” 

Hope makes a strangling noise at the back of her throat and coughs on her own saliva. She attempts to recover as fast as she can with her mind plagued by the mental images Josette’s words bring up. Was she indirectly mentioning their kiss, or was the pureblood just being hopeful? 

“That’s not. That’s not what I—_okay_. I mean, you didn’t consider her interest as curious?” she implores, her voice still partly guttural. Her eyes turn accusatory. “How close are you two, really?” 

Josette rolls her eyes, her hair gathering in front of her face and she pushes a strand behind her ear. Hope loses her concentration for a moment. “Well, she checks up on me sometimes after Arithmancy, that’s all.” 

“Huh.” Hope leans away, peering down into the potion. It’s a steady green color, which it should be at this stage. “Right. Do you think it’s just a coincidence, then? That they approached us minutes apart with identical ideas?” 

“Well, when you put it that way, it does seem a little odd,” Josette admits, her eyebrows knitting together. “But I’ve only been here a month. I assumed that the professors normally behaved like this.” 

“Not really,” Hope sighs quietly, lowering her voice conspiratorially even though they’re already whispering. “Now that I think about it, things have changed a lot. We didn’t even have assigned seating until you came.” 

“_Really_?” She seems shocked beyond disbelief. 

Hope shortly wonders how strict Beauxbatons Academy of Magic _really_ is. 

“Yeah,” Hope tells her, trying to summon up the courage for her next inquiry. “That begs a different question: why do you think we’re partners in almost every class?” 

Josette’s head shoots up at her question, her eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement and the two stare at each other for a minute as they come to the realization that something is wrong, but they have no idea what. 

Together, they both turn their heads toward Professor Slughorn, who is already staring at them with a worried look. He glances nervously away and Hope shifts back to the muggleborn slowly. 

“And what’s he looking at us like that for?” she adds, and Josette swallows so thickly that Hope can see it. 

“No,” the brunette shakes her head in denial. “We’re just being paranoid.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

Hope watches as the other girl keeps her head down like she isn’t. 

—

“You’re right,” Josette whispers hotly into her ear during Transfiguration. Hope nearly jumps before remembering that Professor McGonagall is in the middle of a lecture. She gestures for the muggleborn to continue. “Something_is_ wrong.” 

“Do you remember the day that Slughorn had deliver that letter to Professor Flitwick?” Hope nods her head as the memory comes back to her slowly, like a puzzle piece left forgotten and then remembered. “Well, I was trying to smooth it out after you had crumpled it into a ball—which was _rude_, by the way—and I noticed that the note was blank.” 

Hope glances to her through the corner of her eye, not knowing what she’s getting at. 

“I even performed a spell to check but there wasn’t imaginary ink or anything. So, why would Slughorn have us deliver a _blank_ note?” she adds, sounding equally determined and perplexed that it endears Hope immediately. She almost smiles, before she catches herself and frowns. 

“Nosey much, Saltzman?” she taunts, looking away when Professor McGonagall’s eyes flash over to them. 

“I wasn’t going to read it,” Josette growls, and Hope smirks just barely enough for the muggleborn to catch it and huff. “I _wasn’t_.” 

“Calm down, I was only joking,” Hope says. “But, yeah, I agree with you. The professors are definitely acting weird. It’s also kind of strange how frequently they’ve been having meetings, right? Slughorn has cancelled our detentions three times now for them.” 

Yes, it’s terribly strange. The cancellation of their detention last night due to another meeting only made things even more so. 

“And the detention thing,” Josette continues, talking quickly as if she’s almost excited in their shared mystery-solving. A flicker of a smile hits Hope’s lips. “Why is it that you and I are only ever punished _together_? My friends got more detention after Sebastian started that one fight, yet, I only ever serve it with _you_.” 

She’s completely correct. How does it make sense for the teachers to waste time and resources by watching over their detentions separately? 

The bell rings before Hope can voice the question, and she finds herself lost in solving the enigma for the rest of the afternoon as she tries to figure it out.

During Arithmancy, as if to prove their sudden suspicion with the school, Professor Vector assigns them new seats—based on skill level in the class, she claims—and pairs Hope and Josette together _again_. 

They don’t get a chance to talk the entire time, but the meaningful glance they share when Vector partners them is more than enough to convey what they’re thinking. 

When it’s time for DADA, she almost can’t wait to see Josette again. By the time she walks into the room, she convinces herself that she’s only eager because of their shared bafflement, not anything else. 

Her mood instantly worsens when she catches Josette and Jade flirting by the door. This time, she isn’t surprised at all when Jade once again strays by Hope’s desk at an attempt to talk to the other girl for longer. 

“I’m utterly _exhausted_. Trelawney gave us so much homework last night!” Jade exclaims at one point, and Hope rolls her eyes. The Gryffindor has spent the last two minutes complaining about how tired she is. “I feel like I might fall asleep if I close my eyes.” 

Hope can’t take it anymore. Jealousy is a green-eyed snake that knows her much too well. 

“If you’re so _tired_,” she snaps, and Jade and Josette whip their heads in her direction. “Then do us all a favor and fuck off.” 

The classroom turns deadly silent.

Josette actually gasps audibly, and Hope allows her feet to fall off the table she had propped herself on as Jade glares at her. 

To her credit, the Gryffindor muggleborn stands her ground. 

“It’s rude to interrupt a person’s conversation,” she says with a giant, ugly frown on her face. It’s not actually ugly, Hope just thinks it is. Hope stands up to meet her frown with a smirk of her own. “Didn’t your family ever teach you any manners?”

Josette smacks her forehead between them like she knows what’s coming. Hope sneers. 

“Only for my equals,” she grits out, and Josette looks at her with such a heavy range of emotion that Hope regrets it immediately. How could she make _another_ racist blood crack right in front of her? 

Jade makes a motion like she’s about to pull out her wand when Snape chooses that exact moment to make an appearance and come up behind them. 

“I can’t leave _any_ of you alone for more than a minute at a time,” he declares, stress lines permanently imprinted on his forehead. “Congratulations! You, Miss Saltzman, have earned yourself another two day’s detention!”

Hope parts her lips to argue when she realizes that Snape isn’t talking to her. 

_Shit_. 

“_Me_?” Josette blushes red, not quite embarrassed but also angry. 

“Yes, you were the Miss Saltzman I was referring to, unless you would like your sister to join you as well?” he asks completely straight-faced, and Hope catches frantic movement from the corner of her eye as Elizabeth tries to gesture to Josette to shut up across from her. 

“Why me? I didn’t even do _anything_!” Josette shakes off her shock to realize that Snape is actually serious. She points at the girls next to her. “_They_ were the ones arguing!” 

“Why? You explained it perfectly well—for standing between them and doing nothing,” Snape says simply. “They were obviously about to either quarrel or duel. Ignorance is just as cruel as those that actively take part in evil.” 

Josette doesn’t even reply to that load of nonsense, only staring at him with wide eyes. 

“If you’re done, I have a classroom to instruct.” Josette sits down numbly, and Hope’s body shudders painfully. What had she done? Surely, Josette was going to kill her now. “Thank you. Now, if you could all resume what we have been doing since Monday. That is all I have planned for this afternoon.” 

Hope turns to Josette, unsure of what to say. Does she apologize? Does she talk about Jade? 

Like always, Hope does the wrong thing. 

“You can do better than Montgomery,” she tells Josette, her voice snide in places it shouldn’t be. 

The muggleborn whirls at her, fury in her eyes. “Tonight was supposed to be my _last_ night!” 

Her...last night? Had their two weeks of detention passed so _quickly_? It seemed like just a day ago they had gotten in trouble for dueling. But yes, Hope thinks about it, this was supposed to be Josette’s last day of detention, even if it wasn’t Hope’s. 

“And you ruined it for me! _Again_!” Josette goes on, her voice a whisper but hitting Hope’s ears quite loudly. “I’m done. I am! I have spent the last two weeks of my _entire_ evenings with you...” 

She cuts herself off, like she was just about to say something mean and caught herself. Hope recoils, slightly hurt even though she’s the reason that they’re arguing once _again_. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Her teeth clench painfully as she waits in agony of the answer. 

It does not come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments and kudos :) i’ll be replying by the next couple of days!


	31. Chapter 31

Ethan and Maya drag Hope along to the library after classes to help them with their homework. She isn’t much help, of course. Her mind is far too scattered to concentrate on more than one thing at a time, and she commonly finds herself distracted. 

When Ethan asks for help with Transfiguration, instead of helping, Hope remembers small instants of her time in the class—Penelope transfiguring Josette’s shirt buttons into insects, the muggleborn performing spells better than her, arguing with her, whispering in her ear—

And when Maya and Hope try visualizing their happy memories for Defense, Hope almost tells the girl about Josette’s memory instead of her own. 

To say the least, Hope is very, very distracted. She almost doesn’t notice when Rose walks in with a trailing Penelope, the girl’s tail tucked between her legs. 

Maya has to poke her with her elbow three times before Hope glances up to watch as Penelope walks slowly up to them like she doesn’t want to be there. 

She actually comes to a full stop and tries to leave before Rose grabs her roughly and pushes her forward. 

“Hi, guys. How is everyone doing?” Rose asks sweetly, the look in her eyes making it clear that she is not sweet, and pulls Penelope again as she tries to flee a second time. 

Rose doesn’t let anyone answer before she continues. Dread pools in Hope’s stomach. “_Good_. Penelope here would like to apologize to you, Hope.” 

Penelope stays silent. Hope stays silent. 

“Isn’t that _right_, P?” she prods, and Penelope nods but doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Maya starts shaking with laughter next to Hope, and she frowns. She does not need a forced apology on top of everything else. 

Rose digs a hand into Penelope’s back and the girl starts talking quickly enough. “_Ah_! Yes. I’m sorry, for earlier. I shouldn’t have punched you like that. I was having a bad day—“

“Nope,” Rose cuts in, smiling through clenched teeth. “That’s not how we rehearsed it.” 

“Oh, right!” Penelope nods, no doubt motivated by the hand still digging into her back. “I mean to say, I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did.” 

Hope takes a long second to make the other girl sweat. She smirks, snark edging into her voice. “Okay. I will accept your apology.” 

Rose smiles.

“But only if you get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness.” 

Penelope narrows her eyes and jumps like she wants to pounce across the table Hope is sitting at and strangle her. Rose pulls her back and shoots Hope a pointed look. 

She sighs. “Fine. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have started it.” 

“Great!” Rose beams, a completely different person now, and sits down across from Hope. Penelope begrudgingly sits down as well and the two nod civilly at each other. “So...” 

She starts in on a small babble about Ancient Runes theories and Hope tunes her out in the knowledge that Ethan is hanging onto her every word anyways. 

Her eyes catch Alyssa Chang by the library entrance a minute later, heading their way with something behind her back. She knits her eyebrows as the girl stops in front of their table. The library is mostly empty, which makes her being here even more of an anomaly. 

“Hello, snake-y ladies,” she says, and then flickers her eyes over at Ethan. “And overgrown man-toddler.” 

Ethan sneers and Rose places a placating hand on his arm, the five of them standing up from their seats as if they’re about to get attacked. Alyssa does not even blink. Hope crosses her arms at how nonchalant she appears. The Ravenclaw had never retaliated from the prank Pedro had last pulled on her, and this was clearly her trying to get back at them somehow. 

“I have a...” Alyssa trails off in deliberation, her free hand tapping contemplatively against her chin, “..._proposal_...of sorts, to make.” 

Hope waves her hand to signal her to continue, and Alyssa’s eyes glimmer with something she can’t place. 

“I would loooove,” she drags the word out, her magical nail polish sparkling like empty stars. “To offer an alliance between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, with the annual prank war descending on us as we speak and all that. I figure—“

“Who lost their mind and made you queen of Ravenclaw?” Maya interrupts, genuinely curious, and Alyssa only ignores her and goes on. 

“We’re _smart_, you’re _cunning_. Need I say more?” She raises her eyebrows and shrugs her shoulders in a would-be cutesy move, but Hope only grows more suspicious. Ravenclaw never sides with Slytherin. No house ever had in the history of the school. 

She seems to finish her speech and looks at each and every one of them intently, her gaze focusing on Hope, who stares at her blankly. When the Mikaelson heir does not waver in her own intensity for a long moment, Alyssa sighs heavily. “Fine. Take a moment to discuss, I guess.”

Before she even finishes her sentence, the group begins to quickly turn towards each other and huddle up, almost comically, and Maya throws out her opinion first. 

“She hurt Pedro! It’s five against one; we should kick her ass where she stands!” 

“No, don’t be stupid. There’s witnesses around.”

“—Guys, she’s literally _right_ next to us—“

“Well, actually, the only _real_ problem to doing that is Pince. If we can get rid of her, then—“

“Merlin, I am _five_ seconds away from admitting you all into St. Mungo’s—“ 

“—I say we drag her bony ass behind a bookshelf and do it there, Machado’s right for a change...”

Hope feels a tap against her shoulder and turns around before she can respond to Penelope’s statement. She rolls her eyes and gives Alyssa a dirty look. 

“As much as you all pretending I can’t hear you amuses me,” Alyssa drawls, “I need an answer sooner rather than later. If it helps you make your decision more quickly, I also come bearing gifts.” 

The Ravenclaw slowly pulls out a platter of chocolates from behind her back. They’re all packaged in neat, brown boxes with cute bow-ties, and Hope notices Ethan’s eyes lingering on them for far too long. 

“Tell me when you’ve decided.” Alyssa then sets the chocolates out on their table and leaves. The group watches her until she’s passed the library exit. 

Hope snatches Ethan’s arm before he can make a grab for one of the boxes. “Don’t be stupid. They could be poisoned.” 

“They’re not,” Ethan tells her, looking disgruntled. “See? The boxes are all sealed and the label reads Honeydukes. They haven’t been tampered with.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything. She could have repaired any damage did she with a spell—“ 

Hope stops when she realizes that no one’s listening to her. They’re all just staring hungrily at the chocolate. 

“Cheap bitch,” Maya curses, ripping a box open. “She didn’t get any with nuts.” 

Hope and Rose roll their eyes, the both of them still skeptical about eating any of the sweets. The rest of the group is far less caring—they’ve been craving chocolate since their last visit to Hogsmeade, which admittedly wasn’t a very long time ago, but their candy stash has been depleted for quite a while. 

To test it out, Maya forces Ethan to eat one first, and they all hold their breaths as they wait for something to happen. When nothing does, the rest of the group start eating away at the boxes, all except for Hope. She observes them carefully for any strange reactions before going back to her homework. 

She’s not even halfway through her Charms essay when she feels hot breath by her ear. The hairs on her nape stand on edge and she turns around to get a glimpse of Maya being creepy. Hmm. Hope was _sure_ that she had just seen the other girl sitting in front of her. 

“Can you stop doing that?” she asks, her hand clenching around her quill. “I’m trying to focus.” 

“Are you saying I’m _distracting_ you?” Maya all but purrs into her ear, and Hope sets her essay down with frustration and turns around fully. She has not a second to react as the other girl’s lips descend on her own, and she yelps before pushing Maya away. The chair scrapes loudly as she sends herself in the opposite direction, causing the few people in the library to look over. 

“What the hell, Machado?” Maya doesn’t even respond to that, her eyes raking up and down Hope’s body like she’s a predator or something. The pureblood tears her eyes away to plead with Rose for some help, who is preoccupied herself. 

In fact, she’s...making out with Penelope? _What the fuck? _

Hope’s mouth drops open and feels bile rise at the throat at the sight of her two best friends heatedly lip-locked, in the library no less. 

It’s not snogging as much as fighting, and Penelope swipes the remaining chocolates off the table to the floor as she presses Rose against it. A flash of light hits them from somewhere distant. 

Hope watches the chocolates fall to the floor and comes to a startling realizing. The chocolates! She had known there was something wrong with them! There was no other excuse for how they were all acting, Hope thinks. 

She sends a binding jinx to Penelope, invisibly chaining her hand to the leg of the table as she hurls a different spell to send Rose flying at a wall, her backside temporarily glued to it with another flick of Hope’s wand. 

She searches desperately for Ethan, and finds him at the librarian’s desk, trying to...seduce Madame Pince? Pince even hits him over the head with a book several times but he keeps attempting to move closer to her. 

She aims her wand at him, too, but before she can even utter another spell, Maya is closing the distance in front of her. Her friend pushes her back into her chair and basically sits right on top of her, and Hope sees another flash of light and hears a clicking sound. 

She pushes Maya off of her and stuns her with a spell offhandedly, looking around for the source of the weird flashes. 

Her eyes glimpse the fallen chocolates again, and she picks the box up with observant eyes. She catches a wrinkle in the wrapping, and pulls the Honeydukes brand sticker off to reveal some kind of jokes shop’s label underneath. 

She reads the description: 

** Chocolate truffles with a hint of Amortentia! Just enough for its victim to lust after the first person they lay their eyes on. One truffle is all it takes! For more amazing products like this, please visit... **

Hope throws the box on the floor, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her friends had consumed nearly four boxes altogether. 

Her eyes shift just as another yellow glimmer of light appears in front of her, and she finds a small Hufflepuff boy with a camera around his neck. 

“Hey! Where’d you get that?” 

—

Hope walks away from the hospital wing with a strained set to her shoulders. She had just spent the past two hours dealing with her horny, insatiable friends, and now they were all—_finally_—thoroughly medicated and put into infirmary beds until the Amortentia wears off. They had all ingested a seriously toxic amount, but Madame Pomfrey had worked diligently and Hope had finally left after one last look at their sleeping forms. 

Alyssa Chang would pay, of course, but that could wait until later. For now, Hope decides that she needs to freshen up before her detention. 

Once she’s in her dorm room, she takes a quick shower and dries her hair with a spell. She puts on a clean set of robes and jogs down the stairs. The common room is dark and empty, except for one head of dark hair and immaculate robes by the fireplace—Sebastian. 

Hope hears pathetic sniffles and pauses by the door, urging herself to keep going, but she can’t. She wonders if she’s the reason that he’s weeping like a child, and turns around. With heavy feet, she slowly comes to his side. 

“Why are you crying?” she asks, not very kindly, and he doesn’t look up. She notices that his eyes are watered pitifully. He even runs a shaky hand through his hair. “And in the middle of the common room, no less. Someone could see you. We have private dorms and bathrooms for that.” 

Sebastian takes a long time to answer, and she checks her watch with annoyance. His response makes her sigh. 

“Elizabeth does not love me,” he says miserably, his eyes not meeting her own but fixed against the flames in front of him. 

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Hope tells him, sitting down. He only shakes his head. 

“Surely, this suffocating feeling encompassing my entire body cannot be for the best, as you put it,” he says, and she almost laughs. Plain-old, dramatic Sebastian at his worst. “I feel as though I am...” 

He searches for the word, can’t quite grip it. He lulls his tongue around in his mouth. At last, he seems to find it. “_Dying_.” 

_ “Are you going to apologize to Sebastian and Lizzie?”  _

Hope blinks. 

She places a hand on his chest, maybe the closest they’ve ever been. “Your heart is beating. You’re breathing. I can assure you, you are not dying.” 

“Perhaps not.” A sad smile flickers at the corner of his lip. “She has moved on already, with that Greasley boy, did you know? I saw them together. It’s only been two days, how? How can—“ 

He can’t even finish that particular question. “She...”

He sucks in a harsh breath. “She, uh, claims that we were never meant to be.” 

Hope swallows thickly. “You cannot allow this to hurt you, Pyre. Remember Cassandra?” 

He cuts her off sharply, before she can even explain why she’s bringing her up. “Do not speak her name. She is _nothing_ like Elizabeth.” 

“No. You _need_ to move on,” she says firmly. “We should not even be talking about this—“

“Have _you_ moved on?” he asks, rolling his head towards her, as if trying to prove a point. She frowns, not replying. Why are they even talking about her? 

“Oh, right. My apologies, you _have_.” He laughs bitterly. “How _are_ you and Maya?” 

“Me and Maya?” 

“I saw your pictures at the bulletin in front of the great hall,” he elaborates, throwing his hand out into the fire. “She was practically sitting on top of you.” 

Hope rememberers the Hufflepuff boy who had been taking photos, probably payed to do so by Alyssa Chang. He had run away before she could grab him. 

“Right.” She nods, disgust written between the crinkles of her eyes. “That was nothing at all. Just another prank, I promise you.” 

He frowns, but a sly smirk pulls at his lips. 

“So it was _all_ fake?” 

She tilts her head at him. 

“Your orgy in the library?” he deadpans, and her jaw slackens at his choice of words. That was probably the most obscene thing she had ever heard him say. 

“That’s not funny,” she tells him, but she’s laughing, too. 

“Well, actually...” He smiles, not needing to finish his sentence. 

“I guess it kind of is,” she agrees. They laugh for a little while longer before she stands up. 

“I should go.” She straightens out her robes, the cold seeping into her clothes as she distances herself from the fire. “Can’t be late to my own detention.” 

He smiles his goodbye and Hope leaves the common room, feeling heavy and light all at once. 

Her walk to the Potions classroom isn’t very long, but she arrives late like usual. Josette basically glares at her when she gets there. Hope quickly sees that she has parted her hair with some type of clip, and admires that for a small second before shaking away those particular thoughts. 

“Would it kill you to stop being late all the time?” the muggleborn asks, tapping her foot with crossed arms as she leans against the wall outside of the classroom. 

“It might.” Hope grins, and Josette just pouts, or frowns, Hope can’t really tell. The pureblood thinks that the other girl looks much more upset than she had a couple of hours ago, as if her fury has only ignited since Hope got her another two days of detention. 

A part of Hope is almost glad for it, though. She has about two days left as well—three, if you count the one Slughorn gave her for being late, but she’s hoping he’ll forget about it—and spending detention alone might actually kill her. 

She’s almost gotten used to spending time with the other girl, and Hope is never one to break up routine. 

“Alright! Good evening, Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman!” Slughorn appears out of nowhere, his breathing rushed like he’s just run around the perimeter of the school several times. He opens the door with a wave of his hand and doesn’t bother to hold it open for them. 

“Tonight is our last detention together, I’m afraid,” his voice moves quickly, almost as if he’s ranting. “Tomorrow, Professor Snape will pick up with you two at his own classroom. Same time, of course!” 

Hope knits her eyebrows together but doesn’t say anything. Does Slughorn not have time for them anymore or something? 

“Now, my assignment for you tonight is to clean out the cobwebs in my pantry. While this may sound like nothing, I had a family of arachnids lay their eggs in there just two weeks ago, so the mess is quite extensive. Then you will polish all the walls and shelves—“ He pushes a brown bottle in front of them and Josette grabs it before it can fall to the floor. “I expect them to shine when you’re done. The jars should already be cleaned from the last time you worked in there.” 

“Any questions?” Hope looks at him blankly, and he clasps his hands together. Slughorn then collects their wands. “Great. I will be in the next room over.” 

Josette basically pushes Hope into the ingredient closet, and the pureblood contemplates shutting the door in her face for a short moment. The closet is as small as it had been last time they were in here, and just as dark, too. They quickly pick sides and start clearing things out. 

Early on, Josette refuses to touch the ceilings, which are swarmed over with cobwebs, so Hope has to balance herself on some of the shelves to reach. She quickly grows exhausted from having to swing her arms over head to bat the webs away. 

And then, barely ten minutes into their work, Josette screams and Hope smacks her head against the wall in surprise. When she blinks slowly, her pupils dazed, Josette is almost pressing directly into her, shielding her face and curling into the left side of her body. 

“What, did you see something?” Hope asks, peering into the darkness. Her eyes have adjusted from their time in here, but she still can’t really see anything. 

“There’s a spider,” Josette states, her voice small. Hope catches on pretty quickly, and tries to relieve her fears. 

“It’s pretty dark. You probably imagined it,” she says, going back to swatting at the cobwebs. 

“I saw it!” Josette insists, almost whining, and she points at the corner as if to show Hope. 

“What do you want _me_ to do about it?” The pureblood sighs, turning around when Josette tugs on the sleeve of her robe. 

“Make it go away,” Josette tells her pointedly, still avoiding the corner she alleged the spider was in. Hope believes her—obviously, with all these cobwebs, there has to be a hundred spiders in here. 

“You make it go away,” she says, going back to her work. How is she supposed to polish the shelf? Slughorn hadn’t even explained how to. She’s never even polished a single item in her entire life. 

She puts down her cloth and the bottle when she realizes Josette is still staring at her expectantly. 

“You’re really scared of spiders?” she asks. Josette nods almost timidly, and Hope rolls her eyes. “Merlin, you’re basically scared of everything.” 

“_Two_ things.” Josette holds up two fingers determinedly. “Spiders and brooms—heights. I mean, heights.” 

The slip up doesn’t go unnoticed between them, and Hope smirks, not facing Josette. 

“So you _are_ scared of brooms.” Although Josette can’t see the smirk on her face, she can definitely hear it in her voice. Josette makes a small sound at the back of her throat that Hope can’t interpret, and the two fall silent for about a minute until the pureblood speaks up. 

“I..” Her voice sounds rough, like someone has scraped the tip of their wand against her throat several times. What is she doing? “I could teach you, if you’d like.” 

A beat of absolutely nothing passes.

“How to fly, I mean,” Hope clarifies, and wills herself to stop talking before she humiliates herself further. Josette laughs lightly. 

“I have no intention of joining your quidditch team,” she tells Hope, slightly playful and carefree in the way that makes the pureblood’s eyes fall shut. 

“I have no intention of letting you on it,” Hope replies, and Josette giggles again. She must have forgotten about the spider because she moves towards the corner she had been previously avoiding. 

“Sure thing, _Captain_,” she says, a slight mocking tint to her tone, and Hope smirks rather lazily, a buzzing feeling in her chest. “Actually...” 

Hope hears the steadying breath she takes. “I would like that, if you’re offering.” 

Hope nods even though the other girl can barely see it, using all of her strength to stop a smile from splitting her face. 

The two drift into a comfortable quietness, the only sound in the small space the rustling of their rags and the scrape of the shelf when Hope hits her ring against the wood.

Twenty minutes later, however, the pureblood can’t stand it. She scours through her mind for something to say, and settles for what she thinks is appropriate small talk.

She’s wrong. 

“I heard your sister moved on quickly,” she says, and immediately cringes. She had wanted to sound easygoing and conversational, but instead she just looks snarky. 

The sigh Josette lets out is very telling of how stupid Hope is. 

“Do you have to always ruin everything?” the brunette asks, and the air grows thick with tension instantly. _Damn it_. “We can’t have one single conversation without you messing it up.” 

Right, well, Hope thinks she’s kind of overreacting. It was just a simple statement, there was no real need for her to get attacked and blown up on right now. 

“And,” she adds, “for your information, my sister did not ‘move on.’ You made her!” 

She even includes finger quotes. 

“I did not make her. Sebastian chose—“ Hope tries to lie, but Josette sees right through her and interrupts. 

“You did, though.” She takes a step forward. “I know you did. Why couldn’t you just let them be?” 

Hope bristles. Why did it even matter? According to Sebastian, Elizabeth was _more_ than happy with Milton now. She suddenly feels very angry. 

Hope takes her own step forward. The pantry only has so much room. 

“Sebastian can’t afford to have his life ruined for one pathetic fling,” she says with a scowl, and Josette sputters and leans back with a disbelieving laugh. 

“_His life ruined_?” she repeats incredulously. “Are you even _hearing_ yourself right now?” 

“Are _you_ hearing _yourself_?” Hope shoots back, stepping forward enough to corner Josette up against the pantry. The girl gasps slightly as her back hits it, and Hope wraps her hand around a shelf to lean in. “You’re being awfully naive. A pureblood and a muggleborn? It would never work.” 

Hope doesn’t think she’s talking about Elizabeth and Sebastian any longer. 

Josette blinks quickly, her eyes latching onto Hope’s own. “As opposed to what? A marriage contract?” 

“Yes,” Hope answers, completely honest. She frowns when Josette laughs in her face. “It’s not a joke.” 

“It sounds a lot like one,” Josette tells her, still laughing almost hysterically. “You purebloods arrange marriages like business deals. A relationship is supposed to be about love, not wealth or blood.” 

“You don’t understand!” Hope snaps, so close that she can smell the muggleborn’s shampoo. “It’s expected of us—we’re supposed to marry well, for the sake of status and wealth.” 

She sighs, backing up just enough that she can breathe. “Why am I even telling you this? You can’t—“ 

“Understand?” the brunette finishes for her. Hope doesn’t meet her eyes. “You keep saying that, but I _do_.” 

The pureblood shakes her head, the hand against the shelf trembling. Her family ring glints, catching her eye, and she resigns herself to a lifetime of misery with it. 

“No, you don’t,” she whispers, in a voice of smoke. She licks her dry lips, her mouth feeling like cottonballs. A hand bundles itself into her robes, gripping tightly as if calling for her attention. 

“Then _make_ me.” 

Hope bites the inside of her mouth and looks up to the ceiling, trying to summon the courage to open up. It comes, but not very easily. 

She hears her voice even lower than it was before. Her eyes blink back tears. Why the fuck is she so weak? 

“My father...he’s...he would...” she trails off. What is she doing? No, she won’t be vulnerable. She needs to stop talking. 

“What?” Josette presses, huffing a laugh like a scoff. “He’d burn you off the family tapestry?” 

She’s obviously making some kind of twisted joke, but Hope has none of it. 

“_Yes_!” she nearly yells. “He would disown me!” 

She takes a deep breath. She can’t allow herself to lose control. “Saltzman, your family might be disappointed in you for getting sorted into Slytherin, but mine would quite literally _kill_ me if they found out what I’ve done...” 

“That I’ve...”

That she’s kissed a muggleborn. 

She can’t even say it. She looks down, wishing she could hit herself with an Unforgivable or apparate away. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Hope looks up and nearly jumps. The other girl is barely a centimeter away from her, and if she stops breathing, that explains why she suddenly can’t think either. 

She nods her head, just enough movement that they’re even closer now, and Hope’s thoughts reach a dangerous territory. They stray there for far too long, and it’s for this reason that she doesn’t move away like she needs to, it’s for this reason that she doesn’t leave and put space between them when she knows that this is bad, this is bad, this is—

“I think,” Josette says, her breath puffing against Hope’s lips like an invitation. It electrifies the air, charging the space between them. “That you don’t care nearly as much about your family as you let on, and I...”

Hope chokes on an inhale, her digging fingers become weak against the shelf. She can barely stand, her legs feel like mush. 

“I think that,” she pauses, her lips grazing Hope’s own as she forms the words. Fingertips skim from their place in her robes, and hungry muscles jump underneath every touch. “If I were to kiss you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.” 

The door swings open and the two girls pull apart, a blush smeared pink against Josette’s cheeks and Hope’s own face loses its color entirely. 

“_Oh_.” Slughorn takes a step back, looking between them with barely concealed surprise and...joy? He laughs nervously, a crazed glint to his gleaming eyes, almost as if he wants to shut the door and leave again. “The headmaster has requested my presence. Another teacher’s meeting, I trust you can understand, of course. You two are free to go for the rest of the night.” 

He leaves them with that and _another _calculating look before disappearing from the classroom completely. Hope takes a second to catch her breath, not looking at the other girl, and quickly makes to leave as well. 

A hand on her arm pulls her back just before she reaches the door. 

“No. Stop.” Hope discreetly eyes the pleasant-looking blush that is still radiating over the muggleborn’s face. She turns away but allows Josette to keep her arm within her clutch. “We should follow him.” 

“_Follow_ him?” Hope spins around, blatant shock contorting her features. The pureblood looks at her like she’s crazy. “Did you inhale too many of Slughorn’s ingredients?” 

Josette drops her hand from Hope’s arm. 

“I’m not intoxicated, I’m serious,” she tells her, and Hope realizes that she is. “We should find out what all these strange meetings are about.” 

Of course. If they could get close enough to overhear their conversation, the two of them could probably find out what’s wrong with the school. 

It sounds like a crazy idea, and it probably was, but Hope could not see any different way they could figure out the insanity overtaking all the teachers. 

“Fine,” Hope sighs, “but if we get caught, I’m blaming it all on you.” 

Josette smiles—a real, genuine one—and it only attracts the pureblood to the plan more. 


	32. Chapter 32

They follow Slughorn—several steps behind him, of course—for about five minutes until he reaches the headmaster’s office. It involves a lot of ducking behind columns whenever Slughorn glances behind him or turns his body suspiciously their way. By the time they reach Dumbledore’s office, Hope’s heart is nearly beating out of her chest. 

Slughorn murmurs a password to the gargoyle statue outside the entrance that Hope doesn’t catch, and then walks inside. She sighs, resigning herself to the fact that they’re probably not going to find out anything else tonight, when she sees Josette move forward like she’s on a mission. 

Hope pulls Josette back before she can try slipping inside. 

“Are you crazy?” she whispers, and Josette crosses her arms like she’s severely put-off. Hope does not think that she looks cute at all. Yes. Her pout is _not_ adorable, and Hope does _not_ suddenly feel warm to the point of a fever. “You can’t sneak into Dumbledore’s office.” 

“Why not?” 

“First off, the gargoyle—“ she gestures at it offhandedly, “—notifies the headmaster of any visitors.” 

“Secondly,” Hope pauses for dramatic effect, harshly lowering her voice. “Are you _crazy_?!” 

“We won’t be able to hear anything from out here,” Josette explains, glancing off to the gargoyle like she’s still contemplating whether or not she can sneak passed it. “I don’t want all of this to have been for nothing.” 

Just before Hope can respond, the headmaster office’s entrance opens sharply, followed by several teachers. Hope cranes her head to see who, but Josette tugs her behind a wall before she can get a good look. 

They hide for a long moment before the professors pass them, and Hope finds herself surprised to see so many of them. She recognizes all of her own teachers quickly, and she finds that the headmaster is at the front, leading them to an unknown location. 

“Where are they going?” Hope wonders out loud, and she feels the muggleborn shrug next to her. She thinks that it’s very weird that they’re all staying as a group. If their meeting was over, wouldn’t they be splitting up already? 

“Are you just going to _stand_ there?” Josette hisses and then she takes off to follow them. Hope chases after her quietly, and she imagines that they look like quite a pair, indeed. 

They get close enough to hear some semblance of whispers of the three teachers in the back row of the group, but not close enough to recognize the words. 

Hope realizes swiftly that the staff is guiding them towards the back entrance of the entire school, near the Forbidden Forest. Her breath catches in her throat as they approach the tree line. Why the hell are they going so far out? 

“Can you hear anything?” Josette says at one point, so close and directly behind her when Hope pauses suddenly and the other girl runs into her back. The pureblood flushes and looks away. 

“Not with you yelling into my ear, Saltzman,” she says, straining her ears to glimpse any sort of conversation. 

“I truly...cannot believe the _audacity_ of that man...” she hears, at last. She recognizes the voice as her Arithmancy teacher’s. “As if...this silly _prophecy_ wasn’t enough...” 

Hope and Josette lock eyes, and the muggleborn mouths, “_Prophecy_?”   


Hope ignores the violent shock attaching itself to her skin as she looks into confused, chocolate orbs. “...He has us wandering around....a forest in our _pajamas_...” 

Hope isn’t close enough to register the words as soon as they leave Professor Vector’s mouth, so they come to her in parts and syllables as her brain and ears work together to perceive them. 

“Stop.” Hope grabs Josette’s arm just before they pass the beginning of the forest. She knows that it’s too dangerous for them to keep going, considering the creatures that inhabit the region. 

Josette sighs. “What now?” 

“They’re heading for the Forbidden Forest,” she says, only for Josette to look at her blankly, clearly uneducated about matters of the forest. Hope reminds herself again that Josette has only been here a month. “It’s dangerous. It’s called the _Forbidden_ Forest for a reason. We shouldn’t continue.” 

“What kind of magic school is surrounded by a forbidden forest?” Josette frowns, and Hope rolls her eyes at the clear judgement. 

“Right, because your french school is _so_ perfect,” she drawls, and the muggleborn looks at her pointedly, like Beauxbatons _is_. Hope briefly wonders why Josette even _came_ to Hogwarts. “Whatever. Just listen to me—it’s not safe, let’s go back while we still can.” 

“I’m staying.” Josette ignores her, quickening her own strides before they lose their sight on the teachers. “_I’m_ going to figure out whatever this prophecy thing is. _You_ can go, if you want.” 

She waves her hand dismissively and Hope narrows her eyes after the girl, a jagged frown curling her lip. 

“Fine. Kill yourself for all I care,” she snarls, turning around before she instantly regrets it not a minute later, and follows after the muggleborn. 

“Aww, you _do_ care,” Josette teases the second the pureblood catches up with her. Hope’s frown deepens and she sighs. 

“I don’t,” Hope insists. “If you die somehow, I’m sure Dumbledore will find some way to frame me for your murder. I’m only avoiding a lifetime in Azkaban, honestly.” 

Josette laughs, just enough for the wind to carry it to Hope and caress her ears, and then the sound is gone. 

“Did you hear that?” Josette swallows. An odd buzzing sound fills the air, followed by the sound of...hooves? Hope gulps just as thickly as the cold seeps into her skin. 

“Yes. Can we go now?” she says, and Josette shakes her head, taking another step forward. 

“Come on, Saltzman.” She sighs. Tonight was not the night to die for something as stupid as curiosity. She thinks quickly. “Did you know that there are spiders in here? Really _big_ ones, in fact—“ 

“Fine.” 

“—They’re twice as big as the both of us put together—“ 

“I said _fine_!” 

“_Hmm_,” Hope hums. They had lost the professors a long time ago, anyways. It was better that they turn back now. “So, why didn’t the hat sort you into Gryffindor?” 

Josette shoots her a plain look. 

“Hey, it’s a good question.” Hope throws her hands up. “Your foolish bravery could have gotten the _both_ of us killed if we kept going.” 

“I don’t know,” Josette bristles. “The hat was certain that my fate lay in Slytherin.” 

Hope nods contemplatively. She thinks that muggleborn sounds like she was quoting or reciting something. 

“And your sister?” she adds. “How is _she_ in Gryffindor?” Hope concludes that the blonde seems to be more fitted for Slytherin, but she decides to keep that particular thought to herself. 

“Simple,” Josette smiles, as if remembering some funny moment or another. Hope stares at her curiously, her eyes glimpsing a leaf in Josette’s hair clip. It must have fallen from a tree on their way in. She smirks something endearing. “She threatened the hat.” 

Hope chuckles darkly, shaking her head as if the notion is ridiculous. How can the hat be scared of a teenage girl? 

They walk in silence for a couple of minutes until they reach the entrance of the school again. 

“Wow,” Josette murmurs as they pass the treeline again, looking up to the stars. Hope’s own eyes linger on the brunette despite the clear pull to the beautiful sky. “I didn’t realize how dark it had gotten.” 

“It’s probably past curfew, we should hurry,” Hope tells her, and they pick up their speed as they make it to the largest corridor. They walk side by side, their footsteps light, and Hope’s heart freezes painfully every time their robes so much as brush against each other, nevermind their arms or hands. 

The corridors are all dark, too. So dark that Hope can barely see Josette next to her, if not for the candles adorning some of the walls. 

They’re rounding the hallway to the second floor when Hope hears it. A low, small mewl sounds in the darkness, and she distantly sees yellow, beady eyes at the end of the hallway. 

“Oh _no_,” she breathes, getting the terrible urge to smack her forehead. She could recognize that meow anywhere. “Mrs. Norris.” 

“Mrs. Norris?” Josette whispers next to her, and Hope almost clamps a hand over her mouth before stopping herself. “Is that another professor?” 

Hope only points to the yellow-dusted feline far away from them, getting closer and closer by the second. Josette laughs. 

“It’s a _cat_?” 

Hope nearly sneers. 

“Not just a cat,” she tells her. “She’s a bloody _monster_. Her owner is Argus Filch. He roams the hallways at night looking for students out past curfew, and she’s his little snitch. He assigns the worst punishments if he catches you. We need to go now.” 

Suddenly, the yellow eyes glow with depths of red, blazing embers, and Hope watches in horror as the cat opens her mouth and screams a hiss. It resounds loudly in the hallway and echoes off the walls, no doubt alerting her owner right away to the presence of the two Slytherins. 

“RUN!” Hope yells, because their cover has already been blown. Josette freezes before the two of them sprint down the hallway they came from, looking for any doors or passageways they can hide in. 

“What’s that, Mrs. Norris?” A disgusting, vile voice bounces all the way to Hope’s ears. She nearly gags. Professor Filch was the absolute worst, and his obsession with his cat only made him _more_ gross. “Students out past curfew, you say?” 

“I found one!” Josette screams, and then rattles the doorknob when the door doesn’t open. Her voice turns despairing. “It’s locked!” 

In their desperation, neither of them realize that they’re _witches_ and have actual _magic_. Instead of using a spell to unlock it, the pair dart down a different, small hallway—which leads to a dead end. 

Hope’s heart drops to her stomach as she catches Filch round the corner. If he looks just a tad closer, he’ll catch them and give them several months of detention. She feels along the walls for something to hide in, and Josette mirrors her actions and does the same. 

Finally, a swift glint of light against metal seizes Hope’s attention as her eyes fall open an inanimate knight’s suit of armor. There’s a latch that opens the armor, and Hope is struck with a clever idea. 

“Quick,” she whispers to Josette, pulling down the latch and all but throwing the muggleborn in before stepping inside the suit herself. The space is so tiny that their bodies press against each other to the point of suffocation, and Hope’s hands dig behind Josette to the back of the suit to steady herself. The latch closes behind them and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s the wrong thing to do because she immediately inhales a devastating, delicious scent that travels to her nose and leaves her panting for more. When it becomes pretty clear that she can’t get enough, she stops breathing altogether. It reminds her too much of the dance she had shared with the other girl, the bath, the kisses, the—

The two of them remain deadly silent as the weird cat noises and grunts get louder until Filch and Mrs. Norris officially walk by them. She even hears the jangling of Filch’s signature lamp. 

Her legs become numb as they strain against Josette’s own, and she shifts her feet as much as she can. Hope then flexes her fingers when she starts to lose feeling in them, grasping soft...metal? 

Why was the suit of armor so pliable within her grip? Had she suddenly developed super strength? Hope flexes her fingers experimentally again, wondering if adrenaline was the cause of this. 

“_Mikaelson_,” Josette whimpers, directly against the skin of her neck. She’s leaning over Hope’s shoulder in a curious way, and Hope wonders if she can see something the pureblood can’t. 

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, drumming her fingers and tilting her head, and she can actually feel the other girl almost shudder.

“Your hands...” 

Oh. 

“_Fuck_,” Hope curses, removing her hands from their position underneath Josette’s ass. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. She had thought they were laid out against the suit of armor, certainly not..._there_. Her face scorches with heat, and her abdomen twists with much of the same fire. “I’m sorry.” 

The other girl pushes her softly, a clear invitation to get away from her. 

“I think we’re good to go,” Josette says, in a quiet voice, not quite meeting Hope’s eyes even if Hope could see. Hope freezes slightly, finally realizing their actual situation. Josette’s back is shoved up against the back of the armor, Hope’s own against the front. They’re so close that the muggleborn has to slot her head over Hope’s shoulder. “You can move now.”

The pureblood grabs ahold of herself, feeling flustered beyond relief. “Right. Sorry.” 

She swings open the latch and steps out, smoothing out her robes as calmly as she can. Josette soon follows her, and Hope can see the pink of her cheeks in the nearby candlelight. 

Hope decides not to think about how their appearances might be perceived, and leads the way to their common room now that the coast is clear. 

“I’m sorry, Saltzman,” Hope apologizes again, rubbing at the back of her neck and trying to soothe the burn of embarrassment there. 

“It’s okay,” Josette tells her, looking at the ground. Hope wouldn’t know, actually, because she’s currently looking at the ground as well. “I would prefer it if you didn’t keep calling me Saltzman, though.” 

“What do you mean?” The flush to her face loses its vibrancy in her confusion. 

“Well...” Josette sighs. “I don’t know what this school’s obsession with last names is, but...” 

Hope’s voice grows thick with—no. She won’t name it. “What do you suggest I call you?” 

“By my first name,” the other girl says simply, like etiquette and pureblood sentiments do not matter, and Hope pretends not to notice how slowly they’re walking. She pretends it doesn’t remind her of Jade and Josette, and she pretends that _that_ particular reminder doesn’t make her sick to her stomach. 

“You call me Mikaelson all the time,” Hope scowls, her throat constricting. Why was it suddenly so hard to say words? 

“Only because I’m _supposed_ to.” Josette wrings her hands together. “At least, that’s the norm here. All of you call each other by your last names like we’re in the Middle Ages.” 

“So you want me to call you...?” Hope trails off, stammering like she’s lost her voice or something. 

“God, you sound like you’re choking.” The muggleborn laughs, that same laugh that brings music to Hope’s ears and parts the sky for Merlin himself. “Just call me Josie.” 

Hope swallows, as if preparing herself for some large moment, and her tongue licks across her bottom lip with anticipation. “Alright..Josie.” 

Her voice drifts softly across the syllables of the name itself, and she finds herself hating it and loving it at the same time. What is she doing? She doesn’t even feel comfortable calling her _friends_ by their first names sometimes and she’s known them for _years_. 

Josette—no, Josie—beams at her, perfectly satisfied, and Hope can’t remember why she had been dreading it at all. 

The pureblood darts her eyes away and realizes that they’re standing in front of the common room entrance already. The snake in the portrait even hisses at them, as if to tell them to get a move on things. She wonders how long they’ve been standing here. 

Yet, Hope knows that the second they cross the door back into the common room, things will change and all their progress will be destroyed once again. 

So, just before Hope opens the faux door, she turns back to the brunette just behind her. 

“Don’t sit with Gryffindor during breakfast,” she tells the other girl, a smirk dancing across her lips. “Our house is transfiguring their benches into elephant dung.” 

The muggleborn tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes at her. 

“Wasn’t my idea, I swear.” 

She just laughs. 

Yes.

_That_ one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all those that have left kudos, comments, and have made edits. i’m quite oblivious to twitter and tumblr so if you want me to see one just let me know or link it :) thank you, again!


	33. Chapter 33

Professor Septima Vector stands inside her Arithmancy classroom on a Thursday afternoon with no small hint of anxiety. She watches the door carefully for students despite the fact that the bell has not yet rang, and her class has not yet started. 

She shifts on her feet and eyes the door again, her nerves trembling where they lay inside of her body. 

Last night, she had been tasked by the headmaster in another childish scheme to throw Miss Mikaelson and Miss Saltzman together once again. 

Up until this moment, she had remained skeptical of the validity of the prophecy, but her time in the Forbidden Forest many hours ago had proved fate right directly in front of her. How could she challenge such destiny any longer? 

_ The professors observe the flames in front of them completely entranced. Moments ago, the centaurs had led them to this very fire deep within the forest. And now, they watch as it burns right in front of them.  _

_ It appears that Firenze had been absolutely spot-on with his description of the fire. Vector watches as the wolf and the dragon circle around each other, almost as if preparing for some great fight. Yet, they just sway around back and forth. The wolf only ever stalks forward, the dragon only ever drifts like a flame—almost like they’re preening one another. Sometimes the Arithmancy professor swears she hears purring coming from the dragon.  _

That’s how Vector finds herself here, trying to prepare for the havoc she is minutes away from wreaking. In very little time now, she would be placing a spell on the Slytherin pair in high hopes to bring them together once more. If all goes correctly, the Arithmancy teacher will blame the charm on another student and pretend she has nothing to do with it. 

Instead of taking responsibility, she is to fault the headmaster’s plan to another immature act of the prank war, which is still in full swing, if this morning’s events are anything to go by. Vector can still remember the shrieks from the Gryffindor table as the lions became forced to dine with feces for seating. Her nose still _burns_ from the reminder. 

The bell rings shortly and Vector sits down at her desk, running her hands down her pant legs at an awful attempt to soothe her fears. She begins to have second thoughts—what is she doing this for in the first place? How dare she involve herself in such juvenile deeds! 

Vector raises her eyebrows as the objects of her master scheme walk in at that very moment. In fact, she watches in near shock as Miss Mikaelson opens the door for Miss Saltzman courteously and even pulls out her chair for her. She doesn’t even think the girl has realized that she’s done it because she only sits down swiftly as the rest of the students begin to fill her classroom. 

She assigns them the usual classwork as the bell rings again to signal their time starting. Vector takes a deep breath as she reviews the spell she would be using in her head. And then, twenty minutes later, she finds the perfect opening. 

Miss Saltzman leans in to whisper something to Miss Mikaelson, pointing at her parchment with a clear question, and Vector takes that moment to wave her wand underneath her desk. 

“_Glutinuma tempus_.” 

The effect is instantaneous. Miss Mikaelson splutters as her hand gravitates to Miss Saltzman’s own and they intertwine completely out of their control, their fingers lacing and almost glueing together. The muggleborn tries to tug her hand away with a harsh whisper that catches some of the students’ attention around her. 

“Now is _not_ the time to be making a move!” 

Vector tilts her head at the admission, to which the pureblood turns scarlet. She looks around, obviously embarrassed to some degree as some students begin to gawk. “Making a move? The only move I’ll ever try making is the one farthest away from _you_!” 

She pulls her hand back in response which sends Miss Saltzman sharply out of her seat and into Miss Mikaelson, causing their heads to slam against each other with a dull thud. 

Vector takes the next opportunity to intervene. She surveys the students in the room and picks the best person to blame the prank on—the girl seated right behind Miss Mikaelson. 

“Miss Lowly!” Vector bellows, in her best teacher voice. The Ravenclaw snaps her head up at the sound of her name. “I am utterly appalled at your asinine behavior. To cast a harmful spell on another student, directly in front of me? You must have some nerve, child!” 

She waits as Miss Saltzman turns to stare at Miss Lowly with betrayal, holding up her and Miss Mikaelson’s stuck, clasped hands as if to illustrate her point. 

“Anna! How _could_ you?” 

“What? No!” The Ravenclaw wrinkles her forehead, pulling a face. “I didn’t do anything!” 

Some Slytherins in the class start snickering, but the Mikaelson heir sends them all choking on their laughter with one look. 

“I quite clearly saw you, Miss Lowly. To deny evidence of your act of wrongdoing will only make your punishment worse, do you understand me?” The Ravenclaw shakes her head but Vector ignores her. “Great. Now, I want a three-foot essay on Singular Arithmetic theory, including proofs of every equation we worked on in class today by my desk tomorrow morning. No exceptions!” 

“I won’t take the blame for this—“ 

“—Make that a _four_-foot essay—“ 

“You can check my wand, I swear—“ 

“Five-foot essay it is, then.” 

Miss Lowly swallows and smartly chooses not to open her mouth again. Vector then turns her attention to the muggleborn and the pureblood, who are both continuing to try to pull their hands away like a game of tug-of-war. 

“Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman,” she says sternly, laughing inside. She had forgotten how amazing mischief and pranks could make one feel. She feels as though she’s back in her teenage years. “You two may go to the hospital wing as quickly as you’re able. I dearly hope that your predicament is irreversible.” 

“_Irreversible_?” The pureblood pales, and Miss Saltzman tries to pinch the bridge of her nose only to slap herself in the face with the force of two hands. 

Vector chokes on her slip-up, but tries her best not to show it. Yet, her voice raises unconvincingly. “Right. I mean to say, reversible. Dismissed.” 

The second they leave, the class erupts into gossip and low, whispering voices the Arithmancy professor can’t distinguish. The assignment given to the students remains forgotten, and Vector chooses to say nothing until the end of the period. 

When the bell rings, she calls Miss Lowly over. The Ravenclaw comes, looking largely apprehensive, which is entirely reasonable. 

“I realize that I acted irrationally and might have made an incorrect assumption,” Vector tells her after a short greeting. She becomes pleased to see the girl’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I apologize for my quick tongue and eager eyes. Do not worry about handing in a single assignment to me this week. You are excused from _all_ work until Monday. However, if you tell anyone about this conversation, you will find yourself with double the amount of work I’ve exempted you from.” 

Miss Lowly nods her head quickly, thanking her again and again before Vector waves her off. 

The Arithmancy professor sighs deeply as the classroom drifts back to silence. 

_ This might work.  _

—

“What do you mean you can’t reverse it?” Hope sneers, throwing her hands out in anger. She forgets that the muggleborn is currently attached to her, which allows Josie to drift forward and sway dangerously on her feet. Hope pulls her back before she can fall. 

“If you would give me just a _moment_ to explain instead of constantly interrupting me,” Madame Pomfrey huffs. “It has proved rather difficult to identify the spell placed on you, but I can say for certain that it is quite a complex, skilled one. Although, it appears to be of very little malevolent intent. While I cannot think of a counterspell, most charms have relatively low durations. Yours should, in all likelihood, fix itself.” 

“So your solution is to, what? Wait it out?” The pureblood clenches her teeth. No. She does not need this, and definitely right now. She had enough trouble avoiding her feelings for the muggleborn as it was. She does not need any further inconveniences, especially not one that involves hand-holding. “That’s just not good enough. If you don’t—“

“Can’t you see she’s doing the _best_ she can?!” Josie pulls her away, trying to make some room between her and the matron. 

“The best she can?” Hope laughs incredulously. “She waved her wand once and somehow _immediately_ came to the conclusion that we’re hopeless!” 

“So? She’s an adult. Show some respect!” 

“Teacher’s pet—“ 

“Spoiled little brat—“ 

“Good afternoon, Miss Mikaelson, Miss Saltzman...” Both girls turn their heads as Headmaster Dumbledore walks leisurely through the entrance of the infirmary. Josie blushes, probably ashamed of arguing in front of an authority figure, but Hope just scowls. The old man eyes their clasped hands with amusement. “What seems to be the problem?” 

_What seems to be the problem?_ Hope screams in her mind. _Does he think holding hands is a daily occurrence for us? _

“Saltzman’s brainless friend cursed us,” Hope answers, reverting back to the girl’s last name in front of other people. They did not need to know that the two Slytherins were on a first name basis. 

Josie gasps indignantly. “Don’t call her that! And for the last time, she didn’t do anything! It was probably one of _your_ friends—“ 

“—My friends? They would never be so dense as to openly defy me!” 

“Openly defy you? Are you running a cult?!” Hope opens her mouth to respond when she realizes that the headmaster is still in the room observing their exchange. 

Josie seems to realize the same thing and quickly shuts her own mouth. 

“Oh,” Dumbledore chuckles, and Hope seethes at the weird sparkle in his eye. “Please don’t stop your banter on my account.” 

They stay silent. Hope can hear Madame Pomfrey chuckling by her storage pantry. 

“No? If you’re done then...” He waves his wand at their hands, and then squints his eyes as if he’s contemplating one thing or another. “Well...” 

He pauses dramatically. 

“I’m afraid there is nothing we can do,” he says finally. Hope rolls her eyes. “However, there is no need for panic or useless worrying. The spell will wear off on its own—I estimate in perhaps a couple of hours. Until it does, we shall discuss a few matters...” 

“Seeing as you both do not share the rest of your classes for this afternoon, I will personally excuse you from those and talk to your teachers.” Hope sighs. She had been excited for her Herbology lesson today, as they were supposed to be examining Vampire Pumpkins during the class. She moves her hands restlessly at the prospect, and Josie shoots her a look to stop. “It has come to my attention that you both have detention tonight, which you can still serve together as normal.” 

“Lunch should also be coming up shortly...” As he says it, the bell for lunch rings. He smiles knowingly. “For the mean time, you two may enjoy your meals at the Gryffindor table.” 

Hope struggles to speak. She splutters for a long moment before gathering herself. She can practically feel Josie shaking next to her. Her hand vibrates against Hope’s own, and the pureblood tries not to let it distract her. “Surely, you must be joking.” 

“Miss Mikaelson,” he begins, slightly patronizing. “I would like to think that you can understand why sitting at the Slytherin table may not be the best for your companion.” 

_ My companion?  _

Hope feels bile rise in her throat. Is she so transparent? Can Dumbledore see right through her? 

“But we’re both in Slytherin, sir,” Hope argues, her voice suspiciously thick. Dumbledore leans back on his heels. 

“I have reason to believe that Miss Saltzman has not been well-received by her own house,” the old man states simply, looking at Josie for some kind of agreement. She nods almost imperceptibly. Hope frowns. “Yes? It is solved! You will sit with Gryffindor.” 

He checks his wrist for the time, but Hope doesn’t catch any sort of watch or similar time-telling device. 

“Off you go, then!” He hurries them, standing straighter. “I wouldn’t want some of my brightest students to starve. If any other issues should come to light, please let me know.” 

He leaves them with that, his silly purple and yellow-starred robes billowing behind him. Is it possible for a man over one hundred years old to appear as though he’s a child? Hope thinks that maybe it is. 

“We’re sitting with Slytherin,” Hope tells her _companion_ the second he’s gone. Josie sighs and shakes her head. 

“No, we’re not. You heard him perfectly clear. We’ll be sitting with my friends.” She then drags Hope by her arm and the pureblood stumbles over her robes, accepting her fate of being hauled around like a house elf. 

Hope spots the girl that performed the spell on them just as they exit the hospital wing. 

“Jo! You have to believe me! I had no part in this stupid prank, I swear!” she practically begs as she runs up to them, and Hope pulls out her wand. Josie stands in front of her friend before she can hit her with a jinx. 

“_We_ believe you, An,” she tells the other girl, looking at Hope pointedly. She sighs and puts her wand away. Whatever. She’ll just curse the girl later when Josie turns her back. 

Then the two best friends start to talk like Hope isn’t even there. 

“Do you know how long you’re going to be like this?” Hope sighs. 

“Not a clue,” Josie replies, pouting. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this! I have homework assignments to finish, and my penmanship with my left hand is basically illegible. I still have to write that Defense essay due tomorrow! Snape will use any excuse to dock points, I know it...” 

Hope tunes out her ranting and begins to skim her mind for spells to reverse their awful situation, but she can’t figure anything out. When she finally comes back to, she realizes that Josie and her friend have gone crazy. 

“Don’t worry, Jo, if anything we can just cut off her arm.” Hope whips her head up when she realizes that they’re not joking in any way whatsoever. 

“Oh my god! You’re completely right. What was I even worried about?” 

Josie sighs with obvious relief, gripping Hope’s hand less tightly with the reassurance. 

They pass by the bulletin on the way to the great hall, and Hope tries to discreetly tear down the animate picture of Maya sitting on her lap. The picture doesn’t budge and she allows herself to be pulled away again, catching one last look of her panicked face and Maya’s smoldering gaze. 

Her friends had all recovered overnight, and they were subsequently released in the morning. Hope knows she won’t ever forget the look on Penelope’s face as she realized what she and Rose had done. Rose’s face had resembled a tomato the entire morning, and Ethan himself had turned nearly purple with some mix of jealousy and embarrassment, while Maya had only made a joke out of her attempt to seduce Hope. 

Her friends had felt much better when Hope informed them of the plan to transfigure Gryffindor’s benches into elephant dung. Revenge was probably the best medicine of them all. 

The pureblood searches for her friendd as she and Josie walk through the large entryway to the dining hall, but the sound of all noise immediately muting distracts her. 

Somehow, she had forgotten that she was still holding Josie’s hand. It’s clear now, looking at all the students pointing with wide eyes at them. 

In all honesty, Hope has already become accustomed to the sensation. It feels the same as knowing how to breathe, knowing how to walk. Her mind has already memorized the pattern with the same easiness in which her lungs remember how to inhale and exhale, the same easiness in which her feet recognize the steps to walk. 

The muggleborn practically lugs them to the Gryffindor table, and Hope struggles as much as she can to let everyone know that she is not_deliberately_ holding hands with the girl. She even plants her feet firmly on the ground and grabs a hold of the Ravenclaw table, but Alyssa Chang smashes her fingers with a plate and forces her to release her grip.

She sends a pleading look to her friends as she finds them at the Slytherin table. Maya mouths, “What the fuck?” 

Rose even starts laughing, but thank Merlin that the rest of her friends aren’t as unforgiving and relentless. Ethan sends her a look of sympathy, whispering something to the others as if he’s explaining something. Hope thinks that maybe someone told him about what happened during Arithmancy. 

Josie’s friends all stare at her venomously as the muggleborn pushes her into a seat squashed between the Greasley boy and herself. 

Hope realizes that she was wrong before. There was no way she could ever become accustomed to something like this. She could have never prepared for sitting so closely to the muggleborn— could never grow accustomed to the feeling of their sides, their arms, their bodies pressing against each other. She loses herself in the feeling, the left side of her body completely scorched. 

No one says a single word for nearly five minutes, before Elizabeth breaks the silence. 

“Josie? Have you lost your damn _mind_?!” she stands up and shrieks, her eyes training angrily on Hope. The pureblood reminds herself to remain emotionless and seemingly unaffected, knowing it’ll just bother everyone else around her that much more. 

“Of course not!” Josie whispers, tugging her back down as she tries to quell the attention everyone else in the hall is giving them. She lowers her voice further as she explains. “Someone charmed our hands together. Pomfrey couldn’t do anything for us, and neither could Dumbledore, so we just have to wait.” 

The Gryffindor huffs and Hope tries to ignore Milton, who is still staring into the side of her head like he’s never seen her up close before. Elizabeth is silently puffing air, her hands clenched into fists. Hope knows just what to say to irritate her more. 

“Mhmm. Smells a bit like shit over here, huh, Saltzman?” she drawls, a smirk against her lips. Sure, it’s a petty taunt alluding to this morning’s prank with the elephant dung, but it gets the rise out of her that Hope wants and the blonde reacts instantly. 

Elizabeth lunges across the table with an eating utensil in her hand. Hope yelps when she realizes it’s a knife, throwing herself backwards to dodge it. She probably would have tumbled to the ground if not for the muggleborn glued to her. 

“Kill her, Lizzie!” someone shouts distantly, and Hope scrunches up her face. What the hell? 

“Aim for the throat!” 

The pureblood hears the knife clang against the table and watches in satisfaction as Lizzie sits back down and attempts to relax herself through some sort of breathing exercise. 

“Murder means prison, murder means prison,” she repeats underneath her breath several times over, and Hope naturally frowns. Does _everyone_ want her dead? 

Her frown only grows deeper when Jade comes running in and sits down across from her. “Hey, Jos, I got your Divination textbook for you—_woah_.” 

She glances at Hope and pauses. The pureblood smirks and tries her hardest not to lift up Josie and her’s intertwined hands from underneath the table and gloat. 

“Another prank. She’s, like, glued to me now,” Josie explains shortly, smiling. “And, thank you, but I won’t be going to anymore of my classes today.” 

“Aww, I’m sorry,” Jade says, looking at Hope like that’s the reason for her apology. “I’ll miss you, though.” 

Josie glances away strangely, and Hope thinks that maybe she’s looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Her chest burns as she waits for the muggleborn’s response. “You, too.” 

Jade gives her a weird look at the decidedly _not_-heartfelt reply, but Josie only stabs a piece of pasta with her fork clumsily and shoves it into her mouth. Hope watches with narrowed eyes as the rest of her friends dig into their food. It’s slightly awkward for her and Josie, since they can only eat with one hand. Sometimes the brunette will forget that her hand is preoccupied and try to use it. Hope sighs after the second time Josie uses both of their hands to knock over a goblet of pumpkin juice. 

She then decides to just stop eating. After a little while, she begins to take note that Josie hasn’t eaten a single piece of meat the entire time. 

“Don’t tell me that you’re a vegetarian,” Hope smirks, her voice low so the others don’t hear, but Josie just ignores her. 

“Can you pass the green beans, please?” she asks the pureblood loudly, nodding her head to where they are to the right of Hope. Elizabeth looks at her sister with wide eyes. 

“Josie, we don’t ask for things from blood purists! And we definitely don’t say _please_!” she scolds, but Hope pretends not to hear her. 

“Get it yourself,” Hope tells Josie, going back to brooding off into the distance. This is much worse than she thought it would be, and she had assumed the _very_ worst. All of Josie’s friends can’t seem to stop staring at her, all except for Josie, which is driving the Mikaelson heir absolutely crazy. Why is that Gryffindor muggleborn so deserving of her attention, and not Hope herself? 

“I can’t reach!” Josie hisses. 

“Ask one of your idiot friends, then.” 

“Fine.” Josie smiles sweetly at her, setting down her utensils. Rafael Waithe near Hope scoffs. 

“Jade, can you pass me the green beans to your left?” Hope is forced to watch as their hands brush against each other for a full hour—at least, that’s how long it feels like time is passing—before they both blush and let go. 

Hope immediately regrets not passing over the stupid green beans. 

—

“Ha! Now you _can’t_ be late to detention!” Josie smiles triumphantly, dragging Hope to Snape’s classroom nearly ten minutes before their detention is supposed to even _start_. 

Hope curses whoever charmed them with this insolent spell. Part of her is still ticked off from lunch, where Josie and Jade had continued to flirt the entire time. 

“Does my tardiness really bother you so _much_?” 

Josie opens her mouth to respond but the classroom door swings open and interrupts her. 

“Great. You’re early,” Snape ushers them in. Hope thinks that the classroom looks very odd after office hours. It’s silent and empty in a terribly eerie way, much like Slughorn’s had been. “You may as well start early, too.” 

Hope sighs, sending an intense look at Josie. Her message is clear—_look what you did. _

“No, thanks,” Hope says, leading Josie back to the door. “I’m perfectly content to wait until our punishment _officially_ begins.” 

Snape shuts the door with a magical wave of his hand before Hope can leave. “I have set aside some papers for you to both sort through. Your time tonight will consist of aiding me on some important research.” 

“It entails investigating and gathering data for a group of magical creatures called _Fenarish_. They are rather elusive and were believed to be extinct,” he elaborates unnecessarily. Hope honestly does not care. “However, a ministry report from this summer proved that notion incorrect. Several days thereafter, the ministry official who proclaimed the news disappeared entirely. I wish to find out why.” 

Hope narrows her eyes, wondering why the man was telling them any of this. “You think the ministry killed him off?” 

“No.” Snape contemplates his response. “I think the Fenarish did.” 

Hope raises her eyebrows, jolting slightly when the hand holding hers tenses. The thrill of the touch sends a fire up her entire arm. “Be that as it may, your involvement in this small project of mine is very harmless. Here is a set of keywords I want you to look for in these books and articles.” 

He holds up a short piece of parchment paper and places it on the desk next to him. “Do not pass over even the most _tedious_ of pages. Do not skip over any words or _letters_. If you find anything substantial or concrete, place it in a separate pile for me to examine later.” 

“Any questions?” He doesn’t give them any time to answer, and when Josie raises her hand, he ignores her. Hope rolls her eyes—for Merlin’s sake, the girl was acting as if they were still in the middle of class, raising her hand and all. “Do not summon me unless it is of the utmost significance.  Professor Slughorn is in dire need of my assistance, and I have kept him waiting too long.” 

“You’re not going to supervise us?” Josie speaks up, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Well, that depends...” Hope catches the smallest hint of a smirk at his lips. “Do you feel as though you need a glorified babysitter?” 

Josie blushes, hitting Hope in the side with a single swing of both their fists when she laughs. The pureblood bends over coughing as the air gets knocked out of her lungs. “No, sir.” 

He leaves and they quickly get to work, standing side by side at their usual desk. Hope finds herself enjoying the routine of it all, and tries her best to pretend that they’re in class like normal, and that they’re not holding hands like normal. 

It proves exceedingly hard after a small time, because Hope’s mind wander as she thinks back to her previous times in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She suddenly feels like she’s suspended in the moment, waiting for class to begin. She glances back to the door as if Jade will walk in flirting with Josie, watches the space between the door as if they’re slowly walking to Josie’s desk with shy smiles and rosy cheeks. 

Hope shakes her thoughts with a single nod of her head, and once again, tries to force herself to concentrate. 

Nevertheless, after reading the same sentence for the eleventh time in a row, Hope sets down the book. 

“What are you doing with Montgomery?” 

Merlin. She sounds incredibly jealous even to her own ears. 

Josie slowly looks up from her own book before putting a bookmark in it the best she can with one hand. 

“What do you mean?” 

Her obliviousness spikes Hope’s frustration. She _has_ to know what Hope means. She _has_ to know that there’s _something_ going on between the two of them.

“You keep leading her on,” she insists—_hopes_. Her tongue suddenly feels too big in her mouth, like it can swallow her entire head if she’s not careful. 

The muggleborn tilts her head. 

“Who says I’m leading her on?” Josie shrugs dismissively, calmly enough that something rueful draws in the space between Hope’s teeth. She thinks back to the supply closet, where the muggleborn had almost kissed her. What had changed from that night? Hope chokes. That night...it was only yesterday. What had changed since _yesterday_? 

“Is that your answer, then?” _You pick her, then. _

Josie flits her gaze across the classroom, desperate to change the subject. 

“We should talk about the prophecy—“ 

The pureblood scoffs painfully. 

“I’m not playing games, Saltzman.” Hope appears an inch away in front of Josie before she can blink or even think to get away. She doesn’t even care that she’s gone and said the muggleborn’s last name again. She feels too exposed and insecure, she needs to go back to her roots. “Don’t make me say it.” 

She takes a step closer, and Josie makes a sound at the back of her throat quietly. 

The muggleborn holds their clasped hands at Hope’s stomach, maybe to stop the other girl from coming any further. But her hold is weak, and Hope drives passed it. 

“What do you want from me?” Josie looks up to the ceiling, unable to face Hope for some weird reason. Her voice cracks in the middle of her sentence and something in the pureblood’s body cracks as well. 

“Just tell me...” Hope doesn’t even know what she wants. No. _No_. She _does_. She wants with every cell in her body, she aches with every bone, bleeds with every drop. She wants Josie to look at her the same way she looks at Jade, wants her to not look at Jade at all. 

She wants Josie to shake her, wants the other girl to ask what’s wrong with her, wants her to see beyond Hope’s mask, wants her to ask the pureblood to care again, wants to her to _want_ to learn about Hope as much as she wants to know about Josie. 

The pureblood leans forward dangerously, her eyes almost drifting closed. She has the thought that the other girl’s lips look so inviting. She has another thought that if she doesn’t get to kiss them ever again she might die. Her eyes flick up to Josie’s. “Tell me to stop.” 

“Hope...” Josie sighs, but her own eyelids betray her resolve as they close shut. The pureblood moves forward again, her nose against the overwhelming scent of the other girl’s neck. It pervades her senses like a potent, heady drug and she automatically finds herself wanting more. Josie tilts her head to the side to allow it. 

The pureblood quickly attaches her mouth to the side of Josie’s neck, earning her a breathy inhale and a tight grip against her fingers. Hope’s lips push on, trailing against the girl’s jaw, feather-light and inconsequential but there, there, there. She pauses at Josie’s pulse point, feeling the harsh thundering of a pounding heart, before dropping her head down and kissing the spot below it. 

“Tell me to stop,” she repeats. The muggleborn’s hips suddenly jump up once and Hope presses harder. She presses with her mouth against Josie’s neck, presses with her hand against Josie’s hand as the brunette keens underneath her. 

She takes that moment to intertwine her other free hand with Josie’s own, and pushes them both roughly against the edge of the desk as her mouth drifts closer to where she wants it to. “Tell me to stop, Josie.” 

Her lips wander precariously enough to capture Josie’s own fleetingly. They connect as briefly as one does chasing their own shadow. The touch floats through Hope like a tactile ghost, and her bottom lip quivers with phantom longing. 

It’s all over far too quickly. 

“S-stop,” Josie breathes a shudder, her chest rising and falling noticeably with the effort of it. Hope’s own chest stops painfully. She slowly opens her eyes, putting some distance between them reluctantly. 

She only watches the other girl, her lids unblinking as if she expects Josie to take it back and throw herself into her arms. Any second now, she’s sure, Josie will lean forward and claim her lips again. Yet, she waits and waits, and nothing of that sort happens. With every second, Hope feels her heart splinter and splinter as the muggleborn remains where she is, and as she only gets further away from her. 

Their hands fall apart—the spell fading away or maybe long worn off—and Hope feels the severed connection instantly. She stares at her palm, as if willing it to chase its counterpart, but the useless limb only stays by her side. She has enough willpower, at least, to look Josie in the eye. 

Hope chuckles darkly, regret and sorrow hidden in the deep timbre of her voice. 

“As you wish.” 

It sounds like a whimper. 

It sounds like a plea. 

It sounds like a _promise_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and comments, plus the amazing edits! i feel so honored to see ur guy’s talent displayed in that way, and it honestly makes me so happy to see stuff like that. thank you once again, i truly do appreciate everything haha :)


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don’t kill me :(

The week that follows is the longest of Hope’s short life. 

She begins to dread all of her classes, especially the ones with Josie in them. They don’t talk much anymore, only when it’s completely necessary and wholly unavoidable. And whenever Josie _does_ talk to her—to ask about a potion ingredient, transfiguration spell, or an Arithmancy equation—she only answers with curt nods and blank expressions. 

During Defense, Jade and Josie continue to make heart eyes at each other, and Hope continues to pretend she doesn’t notice it. All the same, she can’t summon a single whisp of something even resembling a patronus out of her wand. Oddly enough, it appears that the muggleborn is having equal trouble. 

She tells herself it’s for the best, but her heart sings a different story. It pounds against her chest as if to disagree whenever she’s in the same room as the other girl. Sometimes it beats so viciously Hope thinks it’s trying to escape her rib cage and jump into Josie’s hands. 

Especially when they’re alone. Now, detention with Josie is cold and quiet. Detention without her is even colder. Even quieter. No detention at all is somehow worse. She had grown to actually enjoy her time with the other girl and now, now—_nothing_.

It only grows more awkward as the weekend comes and goes. Whenever Hope watches her, Josie’s eyes become glued anywhere else. Yet, whenever Hope’s sight isn’t focused on her, she can feel the muggleborn’s vice-like gaze like a hand gripping around her neck. 

It makes breathing around the other girl that much more difficult. As a result, she distances herself in any way that she can. She sits with her back to Josie at the Slytherin table. She travels everywhere with her friends so the other girl can’t approach her, but Merlin, does Hope _want_ her to. 

Her classes quickly become boring and monotonous. She can no longer find peace with her plants or anything magical at all, and quidditch practices are excruciating. She finds herself unable to enjoy flying, and she gets the feeling that her teammates are beginning to hate her for it. 

On Monday, her final night of detention, she schedules a practice for the hour after. Her friends don’t appreciate playing in the dark much, but they don’t complain until Hope begins to schedule practices _every_ morning, lunch break, and night of the week. 

It’s really only to prepare for the game they have against Ravenclaw on Saturday, but it’s a welcome distraction for her nonetheless. It allows her to wake up early and go to sleep late every day, which deprives her of the energy to think about Josie and the huge error she made by trying to kiss her. During practice, she works her team harder than she ever has, and punishes every mistake. When Penelope drops her bat by accident, she makes her run a lap. On the field. With her feet. 

When Ethan misses an easy interception, she has him use his broom as a pull-up bar and assigns him fifty of them. He breaks a sweat during the first ten. When Ryan gives her attitude after their third practice of the day, she makes him drop to give her twenty push-ups. 

Hope Mikaelson has become somewhat of a tyrant. 

And it’s quickly getting on all of her friends’ nerves. 

She realizes that they’ve started talking shit about her when she joins them at dinner and they all immediately stop their conversation. Weirdly enough, Penelope has been the _only_ one not to not say anything about it. Hope thinks that maybe she doesn’t want to start another fight, and she’s perfectly fine with repairing their relationship that way. So what, if she’s become a hard-ass? So what, if she’s devoted all her time and energy to quidditch so that they can win the Cup and make her family proud? 

They should thank her for being so diligent and dedicated, but she knows that they’re all starting to loathe her one way or another. Especially when she can’t seem to stop talking about quidditch or school. 

Whatever. She’s just trying to keep herself busy, and they should as well. Her classes are all she has left. But even those have been riddled with insanity, now. 

Much to the Mikaelson heir’s annoyance, the prank war continues. The Gryffindors strike back on Monday, bewitching all Slytherin robes into colors of gold and red. Hope won’t ever forget how horribly the red had clashed with her hair. 

Still, the prank’s not very clever since Hope and her friends figure out how to reverse it rather quickly, but Gryffindor gets a good laugh out of it and some pictures. 

The very next day, Slytherin retaliate against both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. They charm the Gryffindors to wear lion tails the entire day, forcing them all to stand during meals and classes. Then they curse eagle feathers to spew out of the Ravenclaws’ mouths whenever they feel like talking. 

It’s not a particularly creative prank but the Slytherins enjoy it the best they can. Hope herself doesn’t get any pleasure out of it, and she remains rather low-spirited the entire week due to..._obvious_ reasons. 

The weather and nature outside seems to mirror her mood. The rain rages harder than it ever has before. Every window she looks out of, she glimpses it harshly pouring out like sharp knives. 

Sometimes she can barely think next to the sound of pounding rain hitting a window nearby. The wind seems to have taken over their quidditch practices as well, and the plants are particular snappy in her Herbology class. One day she decides to lay out in the courtyard to relax, but the wet grass is awfully pointy underneath her and she can’t even sit down without being stabbed by it or soaked. 

These conditions only makes it that much harder to concentrate on spending her time on school. 

In fact, despite putting all of her attention into her studies, she can barely focus on her homework. She doesn’t get one single assignment turned in the entire week. 

By Friday night, Hope has become a miserable mess. For once, she chooses to sit alone at the Slytherin table, and for the first time this week she’s facing Josie. She stares at her quite plainly, too exhausted to even _think_ about putting on a show. 

Her food remains untouched on her plate, her clenched fist shaking underneath the table. Her eyes hold a deep, unmasked longing as they fall upon brown waves and pouty lips. 

She’s laughing. Merlin—the girl is _laughing_. Laughing. How can she just giggle without a care in the world? How can she be so happy, when all Hope can feel is something akin to her heart being ripped out? 

Hope only scowls, unaware that her fingers are digging into the table hard enough to bend nails. 

The muggleborn then leans forward and pats the hand of the Gryffindor blonde sitting across from her. Hope nearly breaks the Slytherin table, nearly opens her mouth and lets a spell fly out of it to curse that annoying bimbo. 

She finds herself completely regretting bringing up Jade to Josie. Would they be fine, if she hadn’t? Would they still be talking, if she had just ignored it? Or was it something else altogether that Hope had said? What had triggered that horrid reaction from her? What had—

Hope must stare at her for too long because Josie’s eyes suddenly snap up to her own. The brunette’s laughter cuts off sharply as the brilliant smile on her face slips off. 

Hope thinks that the abruptness of it has startled Jade because she turns around to see what her friend—_girlfriend_?—is looking at. 

She searches in vain, however. Hope is already long gone. 

—

“Ready for the game, Captain?” Rose bumps shoulders with her as she sits down. Hope glances around the great hall before replying. 

“Yes,” she says, her voice curt. The other girl raises her eyebrows curiously but gets the message. She sips at her pumpkin juice with a small frown, starting a conversation with Ethan across from them. Hope doesn’t even have the energy to scold her for drinking anything but water. 

She doesn’t feel hungry herself, but tries to force something down her stomach anyways. It won’t do any good to faint or fall off her broom during the game. 

When she finally manages to swallow one measly pancake, she focuses her attention across the dining hall to one Josie Saltzman. She can’t resist another look, not after she had spent the night with her dreams and thoughts plagued by her. 

And surely, if Hope plagued Josie’s thoughts herself, the girl would be looking at her right now as well, right? Yet, Hope stares for what must be minutes on end, and the muggleborn doesn’t once look in her direction. She only continues to chit-chat and _flirt_ with Jade. 

The pureblood grows irritated and stands up too suddenly. Her teammates send her strange looks, but she shrugs them off. 

“I’m going to the locker room early,” she bites out, unable to hold back the venom in her words. Rose winces, and remorse fills her mouth just as easily. She gives a sweeping glance to all of them. “Be there in an hour, please.” 

Rose stands up as well as if to follow her, but Hope shakes her head. “I—I want some time alone, actually.” 

She can basically feel Ethan glaring into her skull. 

Her voice comes out like gravel, and she rubs a hand at her nape. Why can’t she seem to stop snapping at everyone? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

She sighs. “I...I’ll just see you later.” 

She leaves before Rose can argue again, ignoring Penelope’s worried look and Ethan’s angry one. Hope grabs some stuff from her dorm before making the short trip to the quidditch field and then the locker room. 

She throws her bag against the wall of lockers and sits down on the bench, putting her head in her hands. She needs to _stop_. She needs to grab _control_ of herself, she needs to _shake_ herself, needs to get her head in the game. 

All of this torment for...for a _girl_? 

Her father would look down at her for being so pathetic. 

Hope’s hands shake as she removes them from her head to rub down at her eyes. No. She’s just tired. She doesn’t care about Josie at all, and certainly not enough to feel tormented about it. 

Hope swallows hoarsely and begins to change into her uniform, fastening on all her protective pads slowly because she has the time. 

“Hi.” Hope jerks up at the familiar voice, and her eyes widen minutely. Her jaw clenches but she recovers quickly enough, only just succeeding in looking unaffected. 

Josie Saltzman stands before her, leaning against a locker shyly, her hair wet from the rain and tangled from the wind. It only makes her appear even _more_ attractive, and Hope forces herself to look away. 

The feeling of meeting Josie’s eyes after a week of nothing is a far-too welcome one for the pureblood. In fact, her skin is humming deliciously like she wants to reach out, and her bones suddenly feel restless with energy. She absolutely hates it. 

“Non-quidditch players aren’t allowed in here,” Hope says coldly, strapping her gloves across her knuckles with barely-concealed anger and built-up frustration. She snaps the material against her skin twice to make sure it’s secure. 

Josie falters, looking almost...disappointed? Hope frowns. What does she expect, really? For the other girl to fall to her knees and propose? For Hope to beg for forgiveness, to ask for another chance? 

“Right.” Hope forgets her anger quickly as Josie talks. She thinks that the other girl’s voice is so nice against her ears. Hope _still_ feels drawn to it, still moves closer despite herself. Nothing has changed in a single week, and certainly not any of her feelings. It’s not anything of great matter, though. She would fix this whole mess soon. She would make it go away. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.” 

Hope lets out a scoff before she can stop herself. She eyes the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around the other girl’s neck. She briefly remembers how Josie has rejected the Slytherin one she had bought for her. 

“Please,” Hope sucks in a breath, turning away to gather herself. She pretends that she’s buckling her boots instead of having a mild heart attack. “You can’t wait for us to lose.”

Josie sighs quietly, but it drifts between them with deafening speed to Hope’s ears. 

“Hope...” the muggleborn trails off sadly, coming closer. Hope finds it rather condescending. 

“Don’t say my name,” she snaps, her fists clutching at air as she struggles with the pad on her right elbow. She then abandons trying to pretend to be occupied with something else at all. 

Josie takes a step back at the obvious aggression in Hope’s voice. 

“Okay.” She breathes. Hope wants to ask her if her friends know that she’s here. She wants to ask Josie if _Jade_ knows that she’s here. “I guess I should get going anyways.” 

She turns away slowly and Hope’s heart jumps into her throat. She holds a hand up, clenches it, opens her mouth, lets the same hand drop. 

“Wait.” She can’t help herself. Hope almost says that she has been miserable without her. She almost says that she’s lost her mind within the span of a week _without her_. Instead, she steels her gaze and grasps what’s left of her willpower. She walks up to the other girl with a fury that bleeds with every step. “You can’t do this. You asked for space. I gave it to you. I am not at fault for my actions when you can’t honor that...” 

Hope is suddenly right in front of the other girl, blinking quickly like she’s trying to stop herself from doing something or nothing at all. Her hand comes up against the locker, gripping into the grooves as Josie presses herself back against it. 

Hope finds that she cannot look away from the brunette. Her mouth parts as she trails off her sentence, not knowing quite what to say or maybe forgetting her words as she loses herself in the bright pair of eyes across from her. Anything she could say dies on her tongue as the muggleborn glances down to her...lips? Hope feels her chest plummet, and she leans in slightly with the thrill that Josie is doing the same. She wonders if they’re about to...if Josie’s going to let her...

Then, finally, the girl turns away. Hope’s eyes fall shut with disappointment. 

“I never meant—“ 

The pureblood explodes, backing away so suddenly that she almost trips over her quidditch robes. 

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” she snarks, hurt breaking up her words. Why is she so _weak_? She hates it. She hates it. She’s _hates_—

Josie says nothing. “Go. I don’t want to see you. Ever again.” 

It’s a blatant lie but Hope wants her to believe it with everything inside her. When the other girl furrows her eyebrows before simply leaving, Hope thinks that maybe Josie does. 

—

“I know that my behavior has been..._unfortunate_, as of recently.” Hope looks around at her teammates, receiving many pointed nods and murmurs of agreement. She frowns, not expecting them to so openly agree with her. “I hope you can understand that it’s only because I want the best for all of us. We...” 

Hope tries to gather her words correctly. She wants to say this right. 

“We don’t have many years left together,” she tells them. Maya laughs, but it sounds somewhat sharp. 

“Getting sentimental, Mikaelson?” she asks, a rueful smirk against her lips. 

“What did I say about interrupting me?” Hope growls falsely, and Maya raises her hands in surrender, still laughing. “But it’s true. Victoire and Clarke are graduating this year, so let’s give them one last winning season.” 

Everyone else seems to see eye to eye. Jo Victoire and Ryan Clarke appear touched as well. “It’s not often that I do this, but I think I stand for all of us when I say that we’ll miss you two...” 

“We’re not gone yet,” Ryan interrupts, and Hope scowls. 

“Correction—we’ll miss Jo,” she talks through him, earning a deep laugh from the boy. “All jokes aside, let’s talk strategy. Machado and Park, you guys need to take out their star chaser as quickly as possible. Once Gangley is gone, it should be a fairly easy win.” 

Maya and Penelope high-five despite the fact that they haven’t accomplished anything yet, and Hope rolls her eyes. 

“However, we mustn’t forget that Ravenclaw proved victorious against Hufflepuff their last match,” she adds sternly. “They destroyed them, whereas we almost lost to them. I don’t think I have to explain what that means, do I?” 

Everyone shakes their heads. “Good.” 

Hope begins to usher everyone out as she hears Ravenclaw concluding their team’s introduction. She then secures her goggles around her face and performs a rain-repellent charm on them. 

She follows her teammates and mounts her broom with practiced ease, the last one out of the locker room but the first one to lead them around the quidditch pitch. Hope notices quickly that it’s hard to see even with the charm she placed on her goggles, and her quidditch robes get soaked the second she flies out into the open. 

She also hears thunder, mixed in between the sound of cheering and booing, and she knows that lightning can’t be far off. This is about to be a rough game, indeed. 

As her team flies around the pitch, her eyes—perhaps, without her permission—skim along the professors and students in the stands. She finds Josie pretty quickly in the Ravenclaw section, sharing a red and gold umbrella with Jade. Hope only increases her speed as she passes them, feeling hot despite the cold itching into her clothes. 

“_The players take their positions out in the middle of the field_,” an uninterested voice comes from the commentator’s box. Hope recognizes Alyssa Chang even from the distance. “_Hooch releases the quaffle and..._” 

Ethan fumbles the play to get first possession and Ravenclaw ends up with the ball. Hope huffs and hovers over them as the game starts. “_Ravenclaw takes first possession. Slytherin should just forfeit now, if you ask me..._” 

The pureblood sighs as she doesn’t catch a single hint of flittering gold anywhere in the pitch, the snitch nowhere to be found. “_That’s ten points for Ravenclaw_.” 

Hope sneers, her eyes squinting to look down at the field. Merlin, how had Ravenclaw scored already? Had all their practices been for _nothing_? 

The wind continues to whip uncomfortably against her face, strikes of lightning quite literally lighting up the sky, and Hope grows frustrated with her team as the score reaches 90-20, in Ravenclaw’s favor, their only points scored by Jo and Ryan. 

She can hardly blame her team, though. Hope herself is distracted beyond belief, her eyesight pinned to a familiar spot on the bleachers instead of what she’s supposed to be doing. 

“_That’s ten more points for Ravenclaw, increasing their score to 100-20. Seriously, Slytherin’s captain should just call it now._” Hope frowns, getting the urge to hit Alyssa Chang over the head with her broom. “_Speaking of the Slytherin captain, she seems to be more focused on looking at the bleachers than on looking for the snitch. Searching for a special someone, Mikaelson?_” 

Hope can feel Rose’s gaze on her from her spot at the keeper’s post, and she rolls her eyes, glad that no one can see her blush from how high she is in the air or the density of the fog. 

She looks around at the sky for one more glimpse of the snitch, and not finding it, she makes a quick decision.

She dives down to the action of the game, soaring to the hoops where the star Ravenclaw chaser is fast approaching with the quaffle. 

He draws his hand back to throw the ball at the left hoop, but Hope is faster and catapults herself forward to steal it out of his grip. She passes him and the other chasers quickly, taking them all by surprise as she flies towards the Ravenclaw keeper on the other side. 

“_It seems as though Mikaelson’s taking matters into her own hands now...is that even legal?_” Alyssa wonders out loud, to which the professor next to her responds. “_Oh, McGonagall says it is, then._” 

Hope dodges a bludger as it flies above her head, leaning down and faster as she approaches the hoops. She feints for the right hoop before sending the quaffle all the way to the left. It flies in, too fast for the keeper to attempt to block it, and Hope internally smirks.

“Easy, huh?” she yells in Ethan’s direction—the boy had not yet scored—and he rolls his eyes at her. She turns around to fly back up over the field when Alyssa’s voice reaches her ears again. 

“_Ten points to Slytherin,_” Alyssa huffs, and opens her mouth to make another comment. “_Looks like I’ve hit a nerve. You’re welcome, Mikaelson—_“ 

Hope changes her mind and soars back to where Alyssa is. She shoots over quickly, almost as fast as the lightning above them, headed directly to the commentator’s box. 

Alyssa Chang screams into the microphone as she realizes that Hope’s about to crash into her with her broom. The pureblood smirks as she comes closer and closer, pulling down on her broom handle and dive-bombing towards the box, and then...

At the last second, she pulls up just before she can hit Alyssa, causing the Ravenclaw to shriek in fear. Hope then loops around her with a taunting smile, while Alyssa continues to scream as though she’s been hit. 

“_Foul! Foul! Foul!_” she yells as the seeker floats way, grabbing nearby Professor Snape’s robes to get his attention. “_What do you mean it’s not a foul?! She clearly tried to assault me!_” 

Snape shakes his head at Hope with amusement as he ignores the girl next to him. Hope only balances on her broomstick and lifts her hands up in surrender, focusing back on the game just as Ryan scores again. 

She claps him on the shoulder as she passes him, gliding up high in the sky to look around for the snitch. Slytherin eventually begins to catch up to Ravenclaw. Twenty minutes later they’re tied, 110-110. 

Hope just needs to catch the snitch, and then they’ll win and everything will be fine. She continues to look for it, her eyes periodically glancing to Josie despite her best intentions not to. 

At one point, she stares for too long and catches herself just before she sees something strange. She spots a glimmer of gold by Josie’s coat pocket, and then it disappears briefly. Hope almost writes it off as a reflection of the lightning above them, and then she sees it again. Could it be...?

Hope narrows her eyebrows and then smirks as she realizes what’s happened. She begins to float down towards the direction of Josie and her friends at an almost leisurely pace. 

The Ravenclaw seeker watches her with confusion and interest. He had been following her the entire game instead of looking for the snitch himself, much like Hufflepuff’s seeker had done. 

As she comes closer to the brunette, Hope knows immediately that this will be a Slytherin win. She continues to drift over until she’s hovering just in front of Josie, who notices her immediately. Her friends swiftly do the same, and the other students around them begin to boo and hiss at Hope, which she replies to with a mocking wave at all of them. 

“What are you doing?” Josie whispers, looking slightly panicked. Hope keeps the smirk on her face knowing that they have an audience, even though she feels like she’s dying inside. _Seriously_, how is the sound of her heart beating louder than the pounding of the rain and the lightning _combined_? “I thought—I thought you were staying away from me.” 

Hope tries not to wince or recoil. She wants to fly away desperately, but her team needs this. She will not put herself or her feelings above them. 

“I am,” she tells the other girl quickly, the smile on her face wholly forced. She glances at the seething forms of Jade and Elizabeth, who are practically shaking in their rain boots.“It just so happens...” 

She lowers her voice, and Josie’s friends lean in under their umbrellas to hear it. “That you have something I want.” 

“Oh,” Josie stares nervously, her cheeks and the tip of her nose rosy and beautiful from the weather or maybe from Hope being—no. That’s not it. She watches as the brunette glances off to the side with apprehension and crosses her arms. The pureblood only dips her broom down and leans forward, her hand reaching out slowly towards the muggleborn’s pocket. She can almost hear the snitch fluttering inside of it. How had Josie _not_ noticed it yet? 

Her eyes still locked onto the muggleborn’s, she moves forward quickly and sneaks her hand into Josie’s pocket, eliciting a gasp as the other girl freezes in surprise. Her fingers wrap around the snitch, which instantly stops moving in her hold, and then she shoots off backwards on her broom, gone before Josie can even blink. 

“_Damn it_!” Alyssa Chang curses into the microphone, to which the professors around her all admonish her for. “_Hope Mikaelson caught the snitch. What a _fucking_ surprise_.” 

Professor McGonagall makes a grab for the microphone, but Alyssa moves out of the way before she can get a hold of it and speaks hurriedly. “_That brings the score to 260-110. Slytherin wins. Oh, what’s that? Ravenclaw Beater Greeley Chase just picked up his bat. Merlin, that boy has always been hard of hearing. Can someone tell him that the game’s over already? Oh no..._” 

Hope Mikaelson doesn’t see the bludger coming, too busy celebrating with her teammates. She can only turn her head fast enough to hear a sickening snap and then...

Darkness.

—

Hope wakes up groggily, her head pounding. She tries to move but finds herself confined, particularly the lower half of her body. Her hair is dry, so she figures that it must be some time after the game. 

_ Shit. The game!  _

The pureblood blinks her eyes open and immediately closes them again when warm light hits her irises. It only makes her headache worse and she groans quietly. She feels much like she had after the incident with that silly plant. 

However, her pain soon becomes forgotten when a soft hand grips her own, and she attempts to sit up once again. Her eyes finally adjust to the light but her brain takes much longer. 

“I think I’m dreaming.” Her voice curls roughly along the words from hours of disuse and surprise, not quite believing the person standing in front of her. 

Josie Saltzman shakes her head and laughs wetly, her bottom lip red and glistening, her eyes slightly moist. Hope swallows the lump in her throat, swallows the excitement and dread pooling in her mouth all at once. “I’m _so_ sorry.” 

The pureblood drops her head back to the pillow underneath it, feeling dizzy from trying to sit up so quickly. Or perhaps her dizziness is coming from the sudden proximity to the muggleborn, Hope does not really know. 

_Why is she here anyways?_ She wonders. _Doesn’t she want me to leave her alone? _

“Why?” The question comes out before Hope can shut her mouth, and Josie must not expect it either because she drops her hand from rubbing soothing circles into Hope’s own and visibly pales. 

“I—I should go,” she says, looking anywhere else. Hope misses the contact immediately, and her fingers twitch with want. Josie holding her hand had distracted her from that awful headache. The absence only makes her hurt more. “I fear Madame Pomfrey has grown annoyed with me.” 

_ What does that even mean?  _

“No,” Hope breathes, leaning forward as she tries to get up. It must be too much at once because her brain suddenly feels like it’s splitting apart. She grunts as nausea shoves its hand down her throat, and she breathes deeply at an attempt to keep her stomach contents down. “Can you sit with me?” 

Her voice sounds too desperate in all the wrong places, and it must show on her face because something flickers in Josie’s eyes like a flame before it’s put out completely. 

Her face falls and then she takes a step back. Hope immediately regrets asking, and her head starts to pound with the urge to cry instead. The lump in her throat comes back full-force at the brusque note to the other girl’s voice. “Your friends will be back soon. I’ll see you later, okay?” 

She feels humiliated at the blatant rejection. Hope had not even been _thinking_ about her friends. She had not _even_ noticed that they weren’t here. 

“I...” She wonders why _Josie_ is even still here. She obviously doesn’t want to be around Hope, so why is she acting like she cares? Why is she even waiting for Hope’s response when it looks like she can’t wait to get away from her? “Okay.” 

She bites the inside of her cheek and looks away, unable to watch Josie leave for the second time that day. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. It does not matter if a tear slips unbidden through her eyelid, it does not matter that Hope’s chest feels like it’s been scraped empty, it does not matter that there’s a large bump on her head. 

Sometime later, Madame Pomfrey approaches her with a green, ugly-looking draught in one hand and her wand in the other. 

“Good. You’re awake.” Hope is the only person here. Did she really just notice only now? “Drink this, please. You should feel much better.” 

Hope doesn’t hesitate before throwing down the potion like a shot this time. She feels the effects almost immediately and sighs. Her head no longer kills her with every pulse. 

“Do you know if my friends have been by?” she asks once she’s done gagging at the aftertaste of the potion. Pomfrey does something that sounds a lot like a laugh. 

“Do not worry, Miss Mikaelson...” The right corner of her lip upturns. Hope frowns. Does she think Hope’s insecure or lonely or _something_? “Your friends did not leave you on their own volition. I kicked them all out for a small break. I confess, they were making something of a _ruckus_ trying to wake you up. They should be back shortly.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Hope replies unhappily, bitterly, to which she receives an odd look. Hope only shakes her head. “What happened?” 

“Miss Saltzman didn’t tell you?” Pomfrey looks at her with obvious shock, and Hope’s heart rate skyrockets at the words. Had Pomfrey seen anything? Did she—did she _know_? 

“No,” she tells her, upturning her nose rather obnoxiously. “She did not.” 

“Took a bludger straight to the head, you did,” Pomfrey explains. “Knocked you right out...and if that wasn’t enough, you then proceeded to fall off your broom. Gave us quite a scare, indeed. You’re lucky the headmaster was able to slow your fall, you were very far up...” 

She then begins to rant about the dangers of quidditch and how much she dislikes the sport, which Hope tunes out. She catches some familiar figures by the entrance and heaves a sigh of relief. She’s so happy that her whole team is here. 

“Thank Merlin,” she calls out to her friends, interrupting the matron’s babbling. “Save me!” 

Pomfrey shoots her a dirty look but gets the hint and makes herself busy. 

“I’m not sure we’re better company than Poppy, H,” Penelope tells her right away, which causes Ryan to chuckle darkly. 

“For the last time, it’s inappropriate to call me by my first name and I do not give you permission to do so,” Pomfrey reiterates across the infirmary. They all ignore her as if she hadn’t even spoken.   
  


  
Hope frowns as she fixes Penelope with a curious look. Why do all of her friends appear so...guilty? 

“Well, why not?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

“Ask _Rose_,” Maya grits out in the Slytherin keeper’s direction, but her voice wavers nervously. Rose avoids Hope’s eyes. 

“Nicot?” 

“Alright, don’t get mad, but...” Her next words come so fast that they blur together. “I sent a letter to your parents to let them know what happened—“ 

“You _what_?!” 

“I thought they should know!” Rose defends, raising her own voice once Hope does. “You didn’t wake up for hours, it’s nearly past the afternoon!” 

Hope jolts up. “What time did you send the letter? Where’s my broom? I can probably intercept it in time if I fly out now...” 

She swings her legs over the bed and looks around frantically. Rose rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t be silly,” she says dismissively, and Hope glares at her. “You’re in no condition to go chasing after an owl. Right, Madame Pomfrey?” 

“Sorry, sweetie, I wasn’t listening,” the matron shoots her head up, asking for clarification. They all give her a pointed look, silently asking her to drop the oblivious act. “_Fine_. No, you can’t go flying. For one, you’re not allowed off school grounds without permission, and two—I won’t be willing to release you if you’re only going to put yourself into _another_ dangerous situation.” 

“What do you mean, willing to release me?” Hope’s head swarms. “I can’t leave?” 

“Not until I check you over,” Pomfrey says. “You have a grade three concussion. As your friend pointed out, you were unconscious for many hours. I would like to keep you overnight...” 

“Overnight?!” 

“Ooh,” Ethan looks like he’s been hit in the chest. He lowers his voice but everyone hears what he says next anyways. “That means you’ll miss the party.” 

“Party?!” 

Hope Mikaelson never misses a party. 

“Yeah, Slytherin is throwing one to celebrate our win,” he explains, and his teammates all shoot him pointed looks to stop talking. He quickly realizes that Pomfrey is in the room. “Ohh, not Slytherin. No. I meant to say _Ravenclaw_. Yeah...they’re throwing their own party, you know, to commemorate their...loss.” 

The matron only walks away. “I didn’t hear a thing...” 

“Great,” Penelope’s eyes glint with mischief when the matron disappears into her office. “We’ll sneak you out!” 

Hope’s own darken. “Alright.” 

—

Around nine o’clock, someone knocks on the infirmary door precisely seven times and Hope quickly understands. She rolls over in her bed and pretends to sleep. 

“Mister Machado? I must say, this is quite the surprise. Visiting hours are over. Are you here to talk to Miss Mikaelson?” Hope clamps a hand over her mouth to stop laughing. 

“No, actually. I wanted to see you...do you think we could talk in your office?” 

“I don’t see why not...”

When Hope hears one door swing shut and another open, she quickly gets up. 

“Hurry!” Rose whispers from the doorway, her tie messily wrapped around her neck like she’s already begun partying. Penelope stands behind her, pumping her fist lamely in the air like she’s heavily intoxicated. 

Hope places an disillusionment charm on her bed sheets to make it appear as though she’s still there before she slips out with the two of them, leaving Ethan to deal with Pomfrey. 

Once they get inside the Slytherin common room, Hope sees quickly that everyone is having very much fun, indeed. Penelope hands her her own bottle of Firewhiskey and throws herself on top of a couch as music thuds loudly around them. It’s so loud that it nearly vibrates the floor and furniture. 

Hope instantly notices that there are people from other houses here, namely Hufflepuff. In fact, Maya is making out with one in the corner near the fire. 

“A Hufflepuff, Maya?” Hope questions when she passes her, a lazy drawl coming out of her mouth. Maya pushes the girl in front of her away before setting her eyes on Hope. “I thought we had standards.” 

“_Hope_! _Hey_!” Maya shouts over the music and hugs her, and the Hufflepuff behind her quite literally huffs with impatience. “I knew my rat brother would get you out!” 

“Here,” she hands Hope some sort of concoction in a cup despite the fact that the pureblood is already carrying her own bottle. “It’s my own Hog’s Head Brew.” 

She winks and gestures for Hope to try it. She smiles before tossing the drink down, and it leaves a burn straight to her throat and down her stomach. She almost coughs before gathering herself. “That was good, right?” 

“That tasted like shit!” Hope tells her, but the girl only shrugs and starts dancing again as Rose and Penelope join them. The Hufflepuff girl stands forgotten in the corner. 

Ethan comes back ten minutes later, his eyes wild as he looks at Hope. He yells unnecessarily, his voice much higher than the music. “Merlin, Pomfrey almost killed me for that crap I made up! You’re welcome, by the way, she didn’t notice a _thing_!” 

By twelve o’clock, Hope is adequately plastered. Halfway through, someone passes around some kind of magical chocolate liqueur that Hope likes a lot, and she ends up switching that out with her Firewhiskey bottle every now and then. She tries to enjoy herself the most she can with her thoughts constantly being troubled by Josie Saltzman. _Really_, Hope looks around the common room for her _much_ more than she would like to admit. 

“I would like to make a toast!” Jo Victoire screams at one point, standing up on a table. Hope notices that half the buttons on her shirt are somehow gone. “To fucking Hope Mikaelson! She fucking won us that game! Fuck yeah!” 

Hope laughs as everyone starts chanting her last name, raising her bottle of Firewhiskey and drinking with all of them. It makes her head buzz delightfully, and she finds that she feels much better after everything she’s gone through today. 

Then someone taps her shoulder and she turns around, catching a head of brown hair by the common room exit. 

“Hey, have you seen Pen? The last I saw her, she was so drunk that she turned straight and started making out with a guy, but I haven’t seen her since—“ Rose rambles on. 

Hope ignores her. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says distractedly, patting her friend’s arm. She raises her voice over the music. “I’ll be right back!” 

Her feet move on autopilot, somehow steps ahead of her fuzzy brain. She throws her clumsy limbs out of the common room door, swiftly matching Josie’s steps in front of her with long strides. 

“Hey, Saltzman!” she yells, forgetting there’s no music outside of the common room. She lowers her voice as soon as she hears herself. “Leaving so soon? The party’s barely even started.” 

Merlin, she’s so beautiful. Hope sees that she’s not wearing her school robes, but pajamas instead. The purebloood isn’t sober enough to think about why she would be wandering the hallways in the middle of the night in her pajamas, so she barely picks up on it other than admiring the brunette’s long legs left exposed by her pajama bottoms. 

Josie halts her own steps and sighs. Hope finds herself loving the sound. “Yet you’re already drunk.” 

Hope scowls. What did she do to deserve the attitude? And _drunk_? She’s sure that she’s only had a couple of drinks. “I’m not.” 

“You _literally_ have a bottle of Firewhiskey in your hand,” Josie deadpans, already starting to walk off again. Hope looks at her hand as if she needs to visually prove the muggleborn’s statement, and she is almost _shocked_ to see that it’s true. She hadn’t even realized that she had brought the bottle with her. 

“Why are you walking so fast?” Hope mumbles as she rushes to catch up to her. Josie stops again and fixes her with an annoyed look. 

“Should you even be _drinking_ with a concussion?” Hope tilts her head, confused as to why the muggleborn sounds so exasperated. She tries to walk away again but Hope won’t let her, wrapping a hand around her wrist and pulling her back. She underestimates her strength and they almost knock into each other.

Josie steadies them both with her hands on Hope’s shoulders, hesitating slightly before letting them fall to her sides. The pureblood ignites at the touch, feeling her entire torso burning and then cooling to ice when Josie drops her hands. 

“What’s it to _you_?” she bites out, suddenly irritated herself. Why does she always chase the other girl? For no good reason? “I thought you didn’t care.”

Josie actually flinches. 

“Of course I _care_,” she tells her, so sincerely and angrily that Hope takes a step back. The muggleborn only steps forward. “I care so _much_. But you, you’re just...” 

She runs her hands through her hair as she tries to find the right words, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in that very familiar way Hope knows all-too much. 

“You care?” Hope asks, laughing humorously, not believing it. The smile slips off her face and she curls her lip. “Then _prove_ it.” 

Josie smashes into her, an explosion of pouty lips and soft skin and fire. Their mouths collide much like two spells of a duel, and Hope doesn’t wait this time before sneaking her tongue across Josie’s lips and asking for entrance. The muggleborn grants her it with a soft noise and two hands clutching at the back of her neck. 

It makes Hope feel disorientated yet clearheaded all at once, and her legs turn to jelly in seconds as heat pools in her stomach and scorches every inch of skin. 

She places her own hands against Josie’s waist without much thought other than the lingering one that they _belong_ there. Josie leans into her touch immediately, matching the intimate contact with equal fervor as her fingers wander into the pureblood’s hair. 

Hope’s heart jerks in her chest at the sensation, a shiver of warmth racing all the way down to her toes. She wants to stay in this moment forever, wants to never leave this barren hallway, wants to never hear _anything_ ever again but the sweet sounds Josie is making and the muted music from inside the common room. 

The spell is broken when the muggleborn steps back, her eyes clenched as she untangles her hands from Hope’s hair. 

The pureblood moves to follow but Josie doesn’t let her, and fear fills her stomach just as easily. She attempts to catch her breath with the space between them, but her thoughts are too hazy and unfinished to let her inhale and exhale completely right. 

“This—this was a mistake,” she shakes her head, touching her lips like she can’t quite believe what she’s just done. Hope certainly doesn’t. She stands across from the other girl with wide eyes and parted, swollen lips. “My sister is waiting for me. I’m late. I need to go. My sister—I’m late, I need to go.” 

Hope lets her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might make a twitter, since you all keep asking me for my social media, but then again i think you guys will just kick my ass if i try it


	35. Chapter 35

Her friends end up sneaking her back into the hospital wing during the early hours of the morning. Luckily, professors appear to need sleep just as much as students do, because Madame Pomfrey doesn’t catch them, even with all the noise they make trying to get her inside. 

Still, Hope sleeps for about three hours—sleep plagued by impossibly pouty lips and soft brown hair—before Pomfrey wakes her up in the afternoon to take another draught. Her head pounds again as she sits up, and the matron gives her a weird look. 

“You’ve been asleep since last night, dear,” she says, her eyebrows knitted together with suspicion. Hope grimaces as the foul-tasting liquid scorches her throat. “Are you feeling better?” 

Her tone of voice implies that she thinks Hope does not look any better. 

“Much,” the pureblood clips out, coughing slightly. Merlin, had hangovers always been this bad? The potion Pomfrey gave her didn’t even help, but perhaps that was because it was made to heal a different ailing. “May I go now?” 

Pomfrey narrows her eyes. 

“I think you’d better stay a little longer,” is all she says, before disappearing, murmuring something Hope can’t hear. 

Her friends swing by a little while later. Rose stands in front of them all, a scroll clutched tightly in her hand. The Machado siblings greet her with their mouths stuffed full of chocolates, and Penelope just nods coolly, waving around a Hangover potion in her hand that Hope takes gratefully. 

“Morning,” Rose says, sitting next to Hope as Penelope takes the bedside chair. She holds up the scroll she had been carrying. “This came for you, during breakfast. From your parents, I suspect. They also got you some chocolate, but Maya and Ethan already ate that...” 

Hope ignores the latter part and focuses on the parchment paper gripped firmly in Rose’s fingers. The girl obviously feels bad for contacting Hope’s parents the day before, but the pureblood won’t tell her that she forgave her for it hours ago. 

Rose hands over the letter very slowly, and Hope grabs it at once, fire racing down her veins and turning over her insides. Half of her can’t believe that it’s really from her parents. They usually take days or weeks to reply to a single one of her letters, and that bleeds much to the reason she had stopped sending them a long time ago. 

Now, it had only taken her parents about a couple of hours to respond. Maybe it was because Rose had been the one to write first? It would not do well to have other people think her parents were anything but doting and _loving_ of their only daughter. 

Hope eyes the black, wax seal on the scroll. It’s unmistakably stamped with the family Mikaelson emblem, and the pureblood gets her answer. There’s no doubt now—the letter is from her parents. 

She tugs the scroll open with shaking fingers, reads with bated breath. 

_ Dear Hope,  _

_ I hope all is well, and that you are making a quick return to great health. Regrettably, your mother is quite preoccupied right now, so she sends your favorite Belgian chocolates and her best wishes. You should know that she is thoroughly vexed with your headmaster. As a matter of fact, she is currently sending him a piece of her mind, as she puts it, for allowing harm to come to you.  _

_ I am not so angry. I can only be proud of you for leading your team to yet another victory. I expect nothing else from the Mikaelson name.  _

_ While you are recovering, I find that this is also a great opportunity to begin thinking about your coming-of-age ball for the summer. You will be turning seventeen in a matter of months. With that in mind, it is in your finest interest as a young woman of high standing to solidify your relationships with other purebloods. By the end of this year, I hope we can discuss possible suitors for a marriage contract. Of course, we would never betroth you to someone unworthy of your hand in marriage. However, many renowned families have already offered some rather attractive engagement proposals, and your mother and I know that you would never disappoint us. _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Niklaus Mikaelson  _

Hope sucks in a frozen breath, the letter too cold in her still, unmoving hands. She remembers Rose saying that she had sent nearly two pages of parchment paper in her letter, yet her father’s words barely fill _half_ a page. 

He hadn’t even asked if she was _okay_. In fact, he hadn’t asked how her classes were going, or _anything_ about her. It was as if he didn’t want her to reply, Hope thinks. 

And..._marriage_. 

She had thought she would have more time to make a decision. Clearly not. Her family had carried on the Mikaelson bloodline, had made it proud. 

It’s her time now to do the same as her parents had done before her. What does it matter, that her father is not in love with her mother? What does it matter, that her mother is not in love with her father, but rather her uncle Elijah? 

At least most pureblood contracts are left open, Hope thinks. It doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s tied down to a single person, at least not in the public’s eye. At least—

No. 

Who is Hope Mikaelson kidding? 

She absolutely _abhors_ the idea of binding herself to a marriage contract. Even worse, she hates the thought of bearing a child to a man she will never hold any affection for. 

She doesn’t want this at all. In fact, her lungs squeeze in panic at the mere thought of her future disappearing in front of her eyes. No. Her future is not disappearing. No, it isn’t at all. 

Maybe if she can just find a way to obliviate all her memories of Josie—oh, Merlin, _Josie_—and her time in the summer, then she’ll be fine. Maybe if she can just pretend that she had never went with her father to the Ministry, had never wandered outside to muggle London, had never accidentally spent months of her time roaming the streets and meeting its people, had never toured the artwork—oh, Merlin, the _artwork_— 

Ha! Her father would think her demented, if he knew her true thoughts, if he could read her mind in this very instant. He would think her unfitting of her pureblood status, he would think her therefore unworthy of having any magic at all. 

_ Maybe I am.  _

Hope’s eyes shoot out across the expanse of the letter, trying to find anything she might have missed. At last, the rest of the paper is blank, barring a crimson smear in the corner. Hope sighs. Her father had not even bothered to clean the blood off his hands. 

She does not have much time to be angry or disappointed though, due to the realization that her friends are all still waiting for her to relay the letter’s contents. 

She closes her eyes for one more second of peace, pleading to every deity she knows, wishing she could just lie back down and remain ageless and insignificant in her sleep, before she opens them and hardens her gaze. Her nerves resolve themselves to steel as she sets down the letter. 

“Just the usual, you know,” Hope lies, her voice too soft. She does not meet Rose’s searching eyes. “Good luck with school, good job with the game.”

Not a second of silence passes. 

“Cut the bull.” Penelope crosses her arms, her words not very nice in Hope’s opinion. “You look like someone just Avada Kedavra’d your puppy.” 

“I don’t have a puppy,” Hope snaps, completely ready to displace her irritation with her parents to someone else. Penelope grabs the letter from her lap before she can defend herself. 

She nearly falls out of bed trying to get it back but Penelope holds it just out of reach. She brings a hand to her head as it begins to throb viciously. Why is it _still_ hurting? 

“Mhmm, let’s see here...” 

“Give it back, Park, or I’ll make sure to tell your parents that you’ve knowingly disrespected the Mikaelson name,” Hope warns through clenched teeth. She receives no answer. 

Actually, her friends decide to take no notice whatsoever of her threat, and they all gather behind Penelope to read the letter. 

Ethan seems to finish first, and he whistles a sympathetic sound that makes Hope vibrate with anger. She doesn’t need any of their pity. 

“_Damn_...” the boy trails off. “My parents are giving me until my eighteenth to commit.” 

Maya nods next to him. 

“Mine as well,” Rose agrees, her eyebrows drawing together sadly. 

“I have until my twentieth,” Penelope adds, for no good reason. Hope does not need to be reminded of the fact that they have more time to enjoy their lives freely. 

“It’s not so bad, right?” Rose tries. “He didn’t say that you _have_ to marry someone you don’t want to. I’m sure there’s many people that you can grow to love, and certainly plenty of students here that you can start scouting out...”

“Nicot has a point,” Penelope smiles a grimace. “How about Clara in our Potions class? She’s been eyeing you all semester.” 

“Clara?” Hope’s face scrunches up momentarily. “Oh, Clara Randall?” 

“Yeah,” Rose rushes to nod. “That one, the Ravenclaw. I know you like them smart, and she’s a brunette, too.” 

“What’s it matter if she’s a brunette?” Hope wrinkles her nose. Ethan raises his eyebrows as if to wonder as well. 

“You’re...serious?” Penelope starts laughing, and Maya and Rose join in. Hope waits very impatiently for them to stop. After a full minute, they begin to calm down. “Well, uh, that’s your type.” 

“I don’t have a type,” Hope declares firmly, and they all start laughing again. She looks at Ethan, but he appears just as confused as her. 

“Fine! Fine,” Penelope wheezes out, choking on her laughter despite another minute passing. “How about Peyton, then? From our Transfiguration class?” 

Hope doesn’t know who the hell she’s talking about. “He asked me if you were single the other day.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me until now?” 

“Well, I hadn’t remembered until now,” Penelope frowns, and Maya cuts the both of them off. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “And we’re definitely not setting Mikaelson up with him. I heard that Peyton has some weird masturbation fetish so let’s _not_ go there.” 

“Where’d you hear that from?” 

“All I know is, he keeps his dorm mates up at night with his jerking—“

“Ew, don’t even finish that. Wait...actually...he does it with them _in_ the room?” 

A pointed nod. 

“That’s just sick.” 

“_Exactly_. Now, what about...?” 

—

By Monday, her friends have made it their life missions to find her someone to fulfill her father’s wishes. A large part of her wants to ignore them and turn down everyone they offer. A single, smaller part of her, buried deep within her heart and residing in a tiny fraction of her mind, wants to marry _Josie Saltzman_ of all people just to spite them. 

The moment she thinks it, she knows it’s wrong. 

It’s not like they can hear her thoughts anyways, so she allows herself to hold the idea in her head, but not for very long, because it’s a bad idea, and she’s only known the girl for a little over a month. 

Yet, how is it, then, that it’s so much harder to think of marrying someone she’s known her whole life? How is it harder to picture herself with someone she’s gone to school with for the past six years? Hope does not know. 

Pomfrey releases her from the hospital wing Sunday night, giving the pureblood a couple of hours to finish her homework and get a decent amount of sleep. Still, for some misguided cause, Maya wakes her up unnecessarily early and drags her to the great hall so they can start exploring possible _candidates_. Merlin, Hope thinks she’s treating it like a political campaign for Minister of Magic. 

“Okay, there,” Maya points far too conspicuously at the Ravenclaw table. Hope tears her eyes away from the Gryffindor table to see. 

“Clara? I thought we agreed that I wouldn’t go there,” Hope says, cutting a strawberry into perfect eighths to distract herself. She has the sudden, intrusive thought that the strawberry’s color is the same red as Josie’s lips when she had drank Hope’s butterbeer at Hogsmeade’s, when she had wet them in the Prefect’s bathroom, when she had—

“Do you not listen at _all_?” Maya sighs, exasperated. “We agreed that you wouldn’t go there with Peyton, not Clara. Now, get up, and wipe that whipped cream from your lip, we’re going to go make a proper introduction of ourselves...” 

“What?” Hope hurriedly wipes the whipped cream from her lip. Since birth it seemed, she had always gotten carried away with whipped cream and fruit. “Right now?” 

“_No!” _Maya drawls sarcastically. “In the middle of the night, we’ll go slip into her bed and make our proposal underneath her sheets.” 

It takes much more time than Hope would like to admit for her to realize the other girl is just kidding. 

“Yes, _right now_!” Maya grumbles, pulling Hope up and away from the Slytherin table. Hope gracelessly trips over her robes as the other girl tugs her to stand in front of Clara. She quickly notices Anna Lowly sitting next to her, but the two don’t appear to be talking. 

Up close, Hope can reach the fair assumption that the girl is traditionally pretty. Her features are delicate and feminine, and her eyes are nice and big. They become even bigger when she catches sight of Hope and Maya coming towards her. 

“Hi, Clara, right?” She nods at Maya’s question, but her eyes remain on Hope. _Oh_. 

“I’m Maya.” She elbows Hope in the side. 

“Hope Mikaelson,” the pureblood mutters, only to receive another pointy elbow. 

“I know,” Clara says, before blushing. It reminds her so much of Josie that Hope doesn’t find herself wanting to immediately get rid of the girl. “I mean, we’ve shared classes for the last six years.” 

Hope doesn’t even blink, though she should probably feel some level of embarrassment. Unlike her, Maya shows some guilt. 

“Right,” she laughs almost nervously. “Well, we just wanted to officially introduce ourselves...” 

Clara seems to accept that very easily. “It’s nice to meet you, then,” she says politely, reaching out to shake Maya’s hand good-humoredly. 

When she reaches out for Hope’s, a playful glint in her eye, Maya whispers underneath her breath, “Time to lay the Mikaelson charm on thick, H.” 

Hope chooses not to growl in response to that. Thankfully, she is suave enough or at least hastaken enough etiquette lessons to turn Clara’s hand over and kiss it. 

Hope thinks that the girl’s skin tastes like acid, or maybe that’s just the taste of her own stomach contents rising back up her throat as she stands straight again. She can’t help but remember the last time she had performed that action. 

“Oh,” the Ravenclaw giggles, not expecting it. “Nice to meet you, too, haha.” 

Hope smirks at the reaction, her eyes darkening slightly. 

“Enchanted.” 

The girl’s blush only deepens. 

Maya grins, and the two Slytherins glance at each other with no small amount of satisfaction. “Can we sit with you guys?” 

Clara tells her friends to make room and Hope and Maya sit across from her. Hope can’t help but note the suspicious frown Anna Lowly is sending her way. 

The Ravenclaw table is closer to the Gryffindor table, so Hope has a better view of Josie here. In fact, her view allows her to see far too much, and Hope grows annoyed despite trying to stay calm in front of Clara. 

The muggleborn is giggling again, her head thrown back as she grips Jade’s forearm, most likely flirting with the blonde or at least being very, very friendly—like she hadn’t pressed her lips to Hope’s on Saturday, like she hadn’t tangled her hands in the pureblood’s hair, like she hadn’t _arched_ into Hope’s touch when her fingers had skimmed a sensitive spot on her hip. 

It’s no problem, really. 

Josie had made _her_ choice. 

Hope would make her own. 

—

Carla allows Hope to escort her to Potions, Rose and Penelope trailing behind the pair making very loud innuendos and noises—do they really think Hope can’t hear them? 

She finds that Josie is already inside the classroom by the time she makes it in, and she wishes Carla a brief goodbye before sitting down. Josie doesn’t even look at her, staring into the desk as if there’s something important on it. 

Hope sighs quietly, the tension and silence between them palpable despite everyone talking around them. It’s fine. If Josie isn’t going to mention the kiss, Hope would not either. She had resolved herself to move on during breakfast, anyways.

”Are you feeling better?” Josie asks suddenly, and Hope whirls her head at her in surprise. She’s even more shocked to see that the muggleborn looks like she actually wants to hear the answer.   
  


“Yes,” she tells the other girl. “Thank you.”   
  


Josie only nods, and they drift back into awkward silence. 

Thank Merlin then, that Slughorn begins speaking the moment the bell rings. “This morning should be simple enough. Today I merely wish to expose you to some of the world’s most brilliant potions.” 

He gestures to the steaming cauldrons in front of him, and Hope realizes that she had never noticed them before. She had been too busy looking at Josie out of the corner of her eye. 

“Would anyone like to try their luck at identifying some potions to win house points?” 

Josie’s hand shoots into the air after everyone pointedly remains slouched in their seats, and Hope snorts next to her. 

“Brownnoser,” she grouches, really only joking, but Josie doesn’t treat it like anything funny. 

The muggleborn gives her a glare before standing up to the front, and the fact that she doesn’t even bother to reply or hurl back a jesting insult hurts Hope in a way she had thought to be impossible. 

“That’s Veritaserum,” Josie points, and Slughorn smiles before pouring a bit of the cauldron into a vial for everyone to see. He then holds it up, and Hope instantly recognizes the colorless, odorless potion. “It’s a truth-telling serum.” 

She moves onto the next one, a single vial with a mother-of-pearl sheen that almost glows when Slughorn holds it up. “And that’s Amortentia, the world’s most powerful love potion.” 

Hope watches her carefully, though tries to appear as if she doesn’t care. Most of the students in the room sit up at the mention of the love potion. 

“I heard...” Josie hesitates slightly. “I heard that it smells different to each person, based on what attracts them.” 

She can’t seem to resist, and the muggleborn sways forward slightly to inhale. Hope becomes horrified to realize that she’s holding her own breath. 

“For example, I smell...” Hope leans in slightly, afraid to miss what comes next, but Josie doesn’t continue. Is the pureblood imagining things, when Josie appears to glance back to her? Hope sighs with disappointment as the brunette cuts herself off quickly. “Nothing.” 

The longer Slughorn keeps the lid off the cauldron, the more the scent seems to diffuse across the room. Hope allows her eyes to fall shut when she smells the delicious scent of chocolate frogs and—

No. That _can’t_ be. 

“Now, Amortentia doesn’t create actual love—that isn’t very plausible—but it does cause dangerous infatuation and obsession,” Slughorn explains. Some girls next to Hope begin to swoon forward, and he shuts the cauldron quickly. They startle back as the intoxicating scent in the room dissipates. 

“Wager a guess for the last one, Miss Saltzman?” The old man smiles encouragingly. The muggleborn giggles, and Hope wonders what’s so funny. 

“That’s an Alihotsy draught,” she says. “It causes hysterical laughter.” 

“Very good!” Slughorn praises. “Fifteen points to Slytherin!” 

He kindly dismisses her and she sits back down, a pleased smile on her face. Hope listens to the rest of his lesson with a scowl, her nose randomly sniffing during the rest of the period as though trying to seek out any remnants of the potion. 

Transfiguration comes quickly but passes dreadfully long as McGonagall drones _on_ and _on_ about how apparition relates to the class. She even expects them to take notes, which Hope can barely do with Josie being so obnoxious next to her. 

How is she supposed to focus when she smells so damn good? How can she be expected to concentrate when all Hope can fixate on is how close they are and the sound of the other girl breathing? 

At one point, Josie shifts and hits her knee against Hope’s own, resulting in the pureblood jumping nearly five feet into the air, sending her ink well to the floor and all over her robes. 

The glass container breaks as it smashes against the ground, and Hope has to clean it all up with the entire class staring at her. Merlin, she’s a fucking wreck. 

Hope finds relief in her next classes up until Defense Against the Dark Arts, where Josie and Jade walk in separately, Jade stomping in first and then Josie a second later. 

The muggleborn grabs her chair so hard it nearly flies across the room as she sits down. 

Hope finds, once again, that she has no self-control. 

“Couple’s quarrel?” She smirks through the small bit of hope in her face, pleading that her haughtiness will be enough for Josie to not hear it entirely. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Josie smiles sweetly, if not a bit distractedly, searching through her bag. Hope gulps loudly, as if swallowing a heady confirmation and confirming something all at once. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, trying to appear disinterested, “so you _are_ dating, then?” 

Her heart betrays her, pounding loudly in her ears as if to repeat that she _cares_, _cares_, _cares_. 

Josie looks at her very curiously, pausing in her search.

“No, we aren’t,” she says finally, setting down her bag. “Would...would you mind if we were?” 

Hope looks away, the feeling of meeting the other girl’s eyes too intimate for her to handle. What a strange question to ask. “Of course not.” 

Josie scoffs underneath her breath, like Hope’s answer angers her or disappoints her or both, and Hope fixes her with her own odd look. 

“Listen,” the muggleborn starts, “I know this isn’t the right place, so do you think we could meet later and talk—“ 

“Hopey!” Maya comes running into the classroom, nearly skipping with glee. Josie shuts off completely, turning back to rummaging through her book bag. Hope rips her gaze away from the muggleborn with forlorn, giving her full attention to her friend. “Our plan _totally_ worked! Randall is completely enamored with you, I swear, she could not _stop_ gushing about you in our Astronomy class. All you have to do is seal the deal and ask her out, she’ll totally say yes!” 

“Oh,” Hope breathes, not as enthusiastic. She eyes Josie for any reaction at all, but the girl only sits frozen. 

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” Maya rolls her eyes. “You’ve been flirting with her all day. I’ll kick your ass if you don’t do anything—“ 

“Maya, stop,” Hope interrupts, her skin a pale green. Her hands feel too clammy, and she thinks she might be sweating through all her clothes. Was Josie hearing all of this? Was Carla really expecting so much? She had barely talked with her up until this morning, even if the other girl had been crushing on her for way longer. “Can we just finish this another time?” 

“If you’re sure,” Maya’s face falls, taking a step back. 

“It’s just that I haven’t really...”_ I haven’t really made a decision? I’ve been completely leading Carla on?_ “I’ll ask her out soon, I promise.” 

The words come out strangled, forced out of her mouth by something that feels a lot like her father’s hand. Her teeth grit against each other uncomfortably as soon as they escape. 

Maya smiles and hugs her shortly—her body made of stone—murmuring a short congratulations before going to her own desk in front of them. 

Hope turns back to Josie slowly, her throat tight and awfully closed up. 

“What were you saying?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t sound as weak as she feels. Why does she feel like she’s been caught cheating? Josie was the one that had basically jumped into Jade’s arms! Hope had done _nothing_! No. She’s not cheating. 

Josie wipes at her eyes peculiarly, her own body turned to the side, and when Hope tries to get a better look at her, she only scoots away with her chair. 

“I didn’t say anything,” the muggleborn says, her voice small, wavering slightly. 

“Are you sure?” Hope asks, wanting the other girl to tell her that she’s not, wanting the other girl to confess that she likes Hope as much as Hope likes her, that she wants Hope to ask her out, not Carla. 

“Yes,” Josie repeats, still very softly. “I didn’t say anything at all.”

—

As the week comes to an end, Hope still hasn’t asked Carla out. 

Embarrassingly enough, a part of her is waiting for Josie’s permission or something equally lame. 

And _infuriatingly_ enough, the rest of Hogwarts has seemed to come to the fallacious belief that Hope is the school’s most eligible bachelorette. The pureblood figures out pretty quickly that Penelope even created a rumor that she was looking for someone to marry in the near future. 

Obviously, it’s not a rumor, but Hope doesn’t want anyone to believe it. She’s perfectly fine waiting until her seventeenth birthday to make a decision, especially if it’ll spare her all of this drama in the long run. 

She swears, if _another_ student comes up to her with _one_ more pick-up line or bouquet of flowers, she’ll explode. To make matters worse, she hasn’t talked to Josie for yet another entire week despite her attempts to seek the other girl out. 

On Tuesday, she even visits the Prefect bathroom, simply because that was the day Josie and her had encountered each other two weeks ago. For some reason, she becomes horribly surprised and disappointed when Josie doesn’t show up, even though they hadn’t planned anything at all. 

On Wednesday, she visits the Prefect bathroom again because maybe Josie had merely forgotten yesterday, and the glare she had sent the pureblood during class was only to schedule them to meet there, right? 

Not right. 

The rest of the week mirrors much of the same. Hope sends longing glances to the Gryffindor table from the Ravenclaw table when she’s not sitting at the Slytherin table, and Josie just ignores her and flirts with Jade when they’re not fighting or stomping away from each other. 

Hope starts to dread every single day that passes. 

“Please cancel practice tonight,” Maya begs as they walk into Defense on Friday. “It’s a Friday, we don’t deserve this. Our game with Gryffindor isn’t even until next week!” 

“Too bad,” Hope says, throwing her bag to the floor with more force than necessary. Josie barely looks up as she comes in, and it immediately irritates her. 

“You’ve been so high-strung lately,” Maya whines, crossing her arms. “I thought getting a girlfriend would help. Maybe you just need to get laid.” 

Josie makes a choking sound next to them, and they both look at her for a short instant. The muggleborn only raises the book in her hands closer to her face. Hope thinks that it looks like a muggle cover. 

“For the last time, she’s not my girlfriend,” Hope nearly growls out, and Maya shakes her head with laughter. She says it loudly enough for Josie to hear it, if she even cares to listen in. The pureblood hopes she does. 

“That’s not what she’s been saying in Astronomy,” she gloats, turning around but still talking. Hope doesn’t dignify that with a response. “Whatever. Just think about it, please? The team needs a break.” 

She ends up cancelling practice, which allows her team to all show up to dinner together. Once again, Maya makes her sit at the Ravenclaw table with the intention to ask the girl out for the Hogsmeade weekend, and this time they bring Rose and Ethan with them. Poor Penelope is serving detention. 

“Hey, Hope!” Carla visibly brightens, and Hope tries her best not to grimace. Carla’s friends all giggle as Hope and her own friends sit down.

“Hey,” she says, biting down on her tongue when Maya stamps onto her foot underneath the table. “How’s your day been?” 

They continue to discuss inconsequential things that rather vex Hope, but she doesn’t let it show. She could care less that the girl has a lot of weekend homework. She wants to talk about real things, big things, like future plans and everything after. But perhaps that’s a bit too much, for two sixth-years. 

Before long, the Ravenclaw table receives a new guest. Hope watches as Josie Saltzman sits down next to her friend Anna, asking about some Arithmancy equation. 

Hope furrows her eyebrows. The muggleborn had solved a similar problem with great ease in class today. How does she _now_ need help with it? 

“Oh, I can explain it at the Gryffindor table, if you’re more comfortable there,” Anna offers, and Josie shakes her head swiftly. 

“No, no,” she says, glancing at Hope for just a moment. “I’m fine here.” 

Hope holds her gaze the second time she glances at her, her eyes almost challenging. Brown meets blue in some kind of battle, and Hope finds herself loathe to look away. A hand on her own distracts her and forced her to.

“How was your day?” Carla asks, and Hope resists the urge to shrug her fingers away. 

“Fine, thank you,” she says politely, and Carla smiles. When Hope chooses not to elaborate, she feels a sharp nail dig into the fabric of her muggle jeans. 

She swivels her head to meet Maya’s forceful, pointed stare. 

“_Ask_,” the girl hisses fiercely into her ear, putting more strength into her finger. Hope groans out a charming smile as she looks at Carla, and the pressure lightens somewhat. 

“Actually, I was hoping...” 

“So, you’re saying that when the total is more than nine, we need to reduce it to one digit?” Josie asks, and Anna nods, a worried expression on her face. Hope tries to tune her out, to no avail. 

“Are you feeling well, Jo?” Anna places a hand on Josie’s forehead, as if to feel for a fever. “I know for a fact that you learned that rule your first year at Beauxbatons.” 

“You were hoping?” Carla prods. Hope almost tells her to be quiet, shifting her head to hear Josie’s response. 

“Ah, yes...” Hope trails off again. 

“Silly me,” Josie laughs, “I—“ 

“Yes?” Carla knits her eyebrows together. Hope shakes her thoughts and tries to focus on the girl in front of her. 

“Right,” the pureblood smirks in that way she knows Carla loves. “I was hoping that we could go to Hogsmeade together tomorrow morning, if you’re up to it.” 

Hope doesn’t have to wait for a face-splitting smile to stretch across the girl’s lips. “Like a date?” 

“Yes, like a date,” Hope affirms, and Carla only grins wider. 

“I would love to,” she says, and not a second later, the sound of a plate hitting the floor startles the both of them, and the rest of the great hall. Hope just barely looks up to catch the back of Josie’s muggle clothes as she leaves the great hall, her friend sitting in shock behind her. 

Hope gets up just as quickly, rolling up the sleeves of her hoodie, intent on following her. 

“I, uh, have to go to the bathroom.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess i created a twitter? i confess, i’m having sort of a hard time understanding it, if i’m to be honest
> 
> thanks for reading :) i’ll be replying to all comments shortly


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who sent me kind thoughts on twitter :) just so you know, i’ll only see something if you tag me or dm me so don’t worry if you need to talk shit or something

Hope follows Josie out into the hallway outside, ignoring the worried looks Rose and Maya shoot after her. 

Though, the second she steps outside the entrance, she sees absolutely nothing. It’s like Josie had somehow vanished when Hope rounded the corner. 

She turns around and huffs, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl down both long hallways but it’s completely empty. How is that even _possible_? Did she apparate away? 

Even if she _had_ ran, she wouldn’t have been able to make it that far away to the point where Hope couldn’t see her. 

Ugh. The pureblood can’t resist sighing loudly. She had chased her out here for nothing, and to make matters worse, the entire great hall couldn’t have missed the way she had ran after the other girl the _moment_ she thought something was wrong. Just her luck. 

Hope spins to turn back when a flicker of movement catches her eye—an anomaly in the wall that she would never have noticed if she hadn’t been looking for it. 

Her eyes trace the spot carefully, but nothing falters for a long moment. She chooses to wait and watch, not really wanting to go back to the Ravenclaw table, when the ancient pattern of the wall bends unusually forward around the large column next to it. 

Hope takes her wand out of her pocket and mutters, “Homenum Revelio.” A glow swoops over the space in front of her, perfectly outlining a familiar body and then the disillusionment charm before her fades away. 

“Josie?” In her surprise, Hope accidentally says her first name, the syllables rough and jagged from two weeks of not uttering the word. The muggleborn hurriedly blinks open her closed eyes in shock, like she had been expecting to remain invisible against the wall forever. Had she really disillusioned herself so she wouldn’t have to talk to Hope? “Why are you hiding?” 

Josie folds her arms, her eyes slightly puffy in the way that makes Hope’s traitorous body reach out even though her mind is screaming not to. 

“You’re getting married,” the other girl declares almost blankly, like an accusation, avoiding Hope’s eyes. She leans further into the wall as the pureblood steps closer, and Hope smartly does not move forward again. 

“I’m not,” she tells her, but why is her voice so thick? Can her throat not understand that weakness is the last thing she needs right now? 

The muggleborn seems to snap as Hope finishes talking. Her glassy eyes dry out in front of Hope’s own, switching from that of a wounded animal’s to those of a predator’s. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Hope actually flinches. “Everyone’s been talking about it. I haven’t _stopped_ hearing _all_ about it from your little fan club.” 

Josie’s voice turns breathy and she pretends to swoon. Hope’s throat bobs, feeling flushed at the tone of the other girl’s voice. “Oh, Hope’s eyes are _so_ dark and dreamy! Oh, did you see how cute her crooked tie was this morning?” 

Hope furrows her eyebrows, a hand coming up around her neck as if to check the condition of her tie. Josie only continues. “Oh, _Merlin_! She just glanced in my direction, did you notice?!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hope smirks a bit cockily despite herself and the situation, which only infuriates Josie, who continues speaking with renewed anger. 

“—and then, I find out that you’re courting _Clara Randall_ of all people—“ 

Why does that even matter to her? It’s not like Josie hadn’t let that Montgomery brat court her as well. 

“Please, Carla means nothing to me,” Hope insists, trying to reassure the other girl despite feeling like utter crap herself. Josie sighs quietly. 

“Clara, Hope, _Clara_,” she corrects, with no small touch of exhaustion. The pureblood’s jaw slackens slightly. 

“Shit,” she breathes, running a hand through her hair. Her back hits the column next to the other girl. 

“Have you been calling her that to her _face_?” Josie asks, and Hope thinks that this would be funny if it wasn’t completely awful at the same time. 

She at least has the grace to wince. “She didn’t correct me!” 

Another sigh. It stands between them with cloying disappointment. 

“That just makes it _worse_.” Josie’s eyes flit up to the ceiling, and she sucks in a deep breath. “You know, I have tried _so_ hard not to believe what other people say about you.” 

She laughs incredulously. “I’ve even defended you to my friends, and for what? If anything, you’ve only proven all of them right.” 

Hope’s teeth grit against each other, her jaw sets like stone. “They say that, of your entire blood purist group of friends, you’re the worst.” 

Josie steps closer, poking a finger into Hope’s shoulder with every sentence. The pureblood stands as a brick wall. “That you’re manipulative.” 

Poke.

“That you’re heartless.” 

Poke. 

“That you’re a player.” 

Poke. 

“And I’m beginning to think that you are...” Hope feels her finger like a knife, the girl’s accusations making each touch sharper and sharper. She visibly shudders as Josie shakes her head in disbelief. She doesn’t yet know that her body will still tremble minutes later from the aftershocks. “You can’t even get her _name_ right?” 

_ Why does a fucking name matter?  _

A sneer pulls at Hope’s mouth, bares dangerous teeth that cut into bleeding lips, the result of two weeks of biting into them anxiously. 

“And _you’re_ completely innocent?” she nearly growls out, chuckling darkly. Josie’s furious expression wavers, not expecting Hope to throw her argument right back into her face. “You’ve been flirting with Montgomery for _weeks_, right in front of me.” 

It’s Hope’s turn to move forward now, trapping Josie against her own wall with what she hopes is an intimidating gaze. A single hand against the muggleborn’s side effectively ensnares her from any means of escape. Their eyes remain locked. 

“Merlin forbid _I_ just _glance_ in a different girl’s direction,” she says, lowering her voice dangerously, clenching the fist by her side. “And then you do this.” 

Josie’s eyes suddenly blink away, and Hope realizes that the girl looks close to tears. She instantly feels guilt worm its way through her insides. 

The pureblood’s hostile demeanor pauses, and she breathes in deeply, accidentally getting a nose full of the other girl’s delicious scent. Josie still can’t look her in the eye. Hope narrows her brows suspiciously, and a second later she leans back, surprised. 

“You’re jealous,” Hope states simply, as if coming to some sort of revelation that should have been realized long ago. Josie’s bottom lip quivers at the words, for just barely a second, but it’s there, and Hope catches it. Why does Josie get to be merely _jealous_, when Hope is a terrible _monster_ for saying anything at all? She suddenly feels the need to lash out, though it should make her happy. Why does she feel so angry instead? “Humiliating, isn’t it?” 

Josie says nothing at all.

“Tell me...” Hope leans in, smirking cruelly, ready to bring up every single thing that they’ve done together. Her voice is pure ice. “Does your precious Gryffindor know that I’ve—“ 

Unfortunately, or maybe too fortunately, she doesn’t get to finish her sentence. 

“Jade is safe,” Josie snaps, her eyes wet but ablaze. “Jade likes _me_. What does it matter, if I don’t like _her_?”

Black paints her vision as Hope’s eyelids flutter with something akin to stun. She doesn’t even _like_ Jade?

A bubble of hope bursts in the pureblood’s chest, and she can only stare at the other girl. She notices that the both of them are panting, their chests heaving with the sudden onslaught of emotions. 

Josie becomes nearly hysterical as silence consumes them both. Hope just stays frozen, ogling the other girl to the point of making her uncomfortable. 

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, and Hope only continues to study her intensely. Josie hesitates enough for the pureblood’s heart to stop completely. “That my heart lies with a..._Mikaelson_?”

_Yes_.

Hope visibly gulps, the words setting in seconds after they’ve been said. She opens her mouth but finds she can’t form a sound. “I don’t even _trust_ you! How am I supposed to—I can’t...”

Josie trails off, the rest of her meaning quite obvious without having to be spoken out loud. Hope gathers herself with a quickness she can’t rationally explain. Her father pops into her brain, screaming and cursing, but she banishes him from her mind with all the courage she has left. 

“I’ll say it, then,” Hope whispers, the impending confession pounding her heart to near death. Her hungry gaze shifts between chocolate eyes and pink lips, and with a start, she notices Josie’s eyes dip down as well. Caught, the brunette blushes and tries to look away, but Hope doesn’t let her. She gently eases her hand to brush against the girl’s jaw, guiding her eyes to the pureblood’s own. “My heart lies with you, Josette.” 

Her other arm wraps around the girl’s back to encircle her waist, pressing their bodies flush against each other. The muggleborn practically whimpers, and desire smolders Hope’s vision and moltens her blood to lava. Something else lingers between them, in the way they look at each other, in the way Hope’s hands wander softly. Yet, it’s too early to give that particular feeling a name. 

Hope wets her own lips in anticipation, steadily erasing the distance between them as she moves to cover Josie’s mouth with her own. Just before they touch, she pulls back with a great amount of willpower. “I fear you will trust me even less after this.” 

In the next second, she drives forward and takes the other girl’s lips in a slow, heated kiss, as if trying to savor a taste that never lasts. Their lips slide against each other’s fiercely, tugging and insistent but never rough or uncaring. Hope thinks that the other girl tastes like pumpkin juice and the candy she had watched Josie sneak into her mouth during Defense. Hope tries to recall the flavor, she’s sure that she remembers some type of Muggle wrapper, certainly a candy she didn’t recognize that the brunette had probably smuggled from Merlin _knows_ where—

The softness of Josie’s full lips leaves Hope winded despite the short duration of the kiss, and she finds herself wholly unprepared for the intense feelings such a kiss would arise after two weeks of waiting. 

Still, Hope’s arm tightens around the girl’s waist, wanting to feel every little thing she can, never wanting this to end. At last, the need for breathing comes all too suddenly and they break apart, Josie panting softly into her ear. 

From this position, Hope can perfectly detect Josie’s normal scent but tenfold now—chocolate frogs and the faint, lingering fragrance of her shampoo. It infiltrates Hope’s senses like some sort of insanity spell, making her unexplainably crazy for the girl across from her. 

Their eyes meet breathlessly, and Hope catches something that looks a lot like hesitation in Josie’s own. It sparks panic within her, and her body moves on its own, refusing to let regret ruin the moment once again. 

She dips her head to the muggleborn’s neck when her lips seem to evade Hope’s, leaving closed kisses down to her collarbone. Josie sucks in a rapid breath immediately, her hands finding their way to the pureblood’s hair like they always tend to do. 

Hope becomes horrified to realize that she wants to leave hickeys, wants to leave a reminder for everyone else to see that Josie is taken, even though Josie is decidedly _not_ taken and will probably _never_ be by Hope Mikaelson. But she has this, at least. She has _this_. 

She quenches the selfish urge by sucking a mark into the sensitive spot of Josie’s neck that she had noticed weeks ago. She knows it because Josie’s grip on her hair becomes tighter and she springs up much like she had in detention, making a small gasping sound that has Hope’s teeth making a greedy appearance. 

“Hope,” Josie breathes, tugging her head back. Hope ignores her, her head foggy. “We should—_oh_. I...think, I think I hear someone coming.” 

The words register very quickly. 

“Oh.” Hope leans back, turning so she’s leaning side by side to Josie against the wall. Her haze of lust rushes passed her and she begins to hear footsteps coming awfully close. 

She tries to take out her wand but she’s not fast enough to, so she just jumps behind the column as the person approaches. Josie pulls a face as Hope leaves her behind. 

“Josie!” 

Hope sighs when she sees that it’s only the muggleborn’s sister. They should be fine, as long as Hope can escape without Elizabeth noticing. The pureblood stealthily takes out her wand once she sees Elizabeth hasn’t noticed her and nonverbally casts her own disillusionment charm to make herself invisible. 

“Anna told me you were upset,” the Gryffindor says, and Hope stays where she is for longer than she should. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about—“ 

“Is _that_ what I _think_ it is?!” A shrill shriek reaches Hope’s ears. She cringes, and tries to stay concentrated so the spell won’t falter and reveal her. 

“No.” 

A pause. 

“It’s fresh...” 

“Ew, don’t touch it!” Hope hears a slap, which is probably Josie pushing her sister away. 

“So, it _is_ a hickey!” 

Silence. 

“Well?” More silence. “Last I recall, _Josette_, your blonde beau is still eating away at a danish in the great hall. So, unless Jade Montgomery has suddenly developed the ability to teleport, that means that you’re sneaking around with another person!” 

Hope swallows. How had she come to that conclusion so quickly? 

“Don’t be silly, Lizzie—“ 

“You’re _cheating_ on her?!” 

“We’re not even _dating_.” 

“You make a good point...” 

“Thank you.” Josie even sounds touched. Hope rolls her eyes. “Did they have any chocolate croissants at the table? I missed dessert.” 

“No, sadly. I swear, this school has _terrible_ taste. Like, you’re telling me, we’re supposed to eat steak pie and gravy every day?” 

“I know right! They offer so little varieties of options, it’s crazy—“ 

Is Hope hearing that right? The food at Hogwarts is the _best_. How _dare_ they even utter those words out loud! 

“Uh uh, I know what you’re trying to do!” Elizabeth grows suspicious. “You’re attempting to _distract_ me!” 

Josie huffs. 

“Well, sis, your plan has failed. I saw what I saw. Just why, may I ask, are you abandoning your brewing romance with Jade?”

She takes another second. “Or better yet, who for?” 

“I don’t even like her like that!” Josie claims, ignoring Elizabeth’s last question pointedly. 

“Since when? You were all over her today in class!” 

Hope nods her agreement, even though she knows they can’t see her. She should probably take the time to slip out now anyways...

“I wasn’t!” 

“It’s her obsession with Danish pastries, isn’t it?” Lizzie claps her hands together, as if solving some sort of mystery. Or at least, that’s what it sounds like. “Yup, _that’s_ why you lost interest.” 

“Lizzie, no!” 

“Who gave you the hickey, then?” 

“No one.” 

“So you gave yourself a hickey?” 

Josie must nod because of Lizzie’s next statement. 

“I understand that you love your yoga, Jo, but we _both_ know that no one is _that_ flexible.” 

“Uh...”

“Hold on.” 

Hope’s heart drops. 

“Is your mystery lover still here?” 

Her eyes widen comically at Elizabeth’s scandalized tone. 

“I’ve been talking to you for about three minutes, but you’re still blushing like a tomato, and that usually lasts five minutes after you flirt with someone, which means that they can’t be far away yet...” 

Hope picks up her foot slowly and sets it in front of her, careful not to make any noise. Sure, Elizabeth might not be able to see her, but she can probably still hear her fine. 

“Come on, Lizzie, don’t be paranoid. I’m only blushing because of how weird you’re being.” 

Josie’s voice sounds unnaturally high even to Hope’s ears. 

“Right, so you won’t mind if I cast a revealing charm?” 

Hope takes off in a dead sprint after she hears that. Her footsteps bang loudly against the flooring, but they’re close enough to the great hall that the pureblood can probably reach it before Elizabeth casts the spell and identifies her. 

She turns the corner just as her body becomes visible again right in front of her very eyes, and she sits down at the nearest house’s table just as she hears Josie and Lizzie come in right behind her. 

She pretends not to see the two girls standing by the large entrance, Elizabeth looking around with narrowed eyes until Josie drags her away. 

As they disappear back to the Gryffindor table, Hope chooses the next moment to look around, her eyes falling onto the black and yellow banners floating in front of her. She almost chokes as she comes to realize that she’s surrounded by dozens of Hufflepuffs, all younger years by the look of it. To make matters worse, they’re all staring at her with barely-suppressed bewilderment and shock. 

Hope scowls. 

Somehow, in her distraction, she had sat down at the Hufflepuff table. 

_Fuck_. 

—

“Hey, we’re going up, you coming?” Rose taps her arm gently, nodding in the direction of the dorm rooms. Hope smiles and shakes her head, turning back to the fire. 

“No, actually...” she says, her voice falling away slightly to gather her thoughts. “I’m going to wait up a few, you go ahead.” 

“Are you sure?” Rose asks, concerned. She’s right, Hope knows. It’s currently passed midnight, and their group of friends had spent the entire night lounging around together in the common room. Now, the room is completely empty, in fact, hours had passed since everyone cleared out. 

Still, despite all that time, Hope had not seen Josie since dinner, and she had been watching the common room door diligently ever since they got inside. 

“Yeah, thanks, though,” Hope decides thoughtfully, her eyes glancing to the door once again. She’ll go to sleep once she sees Josie again, that’s all. Once they talk, she’ll go back to her dorm and sleep peacefully. 

“Alright.” Rose steps back, . “Try not fall asleep, okay? You know Clarke likes to wake up early to mess with the people that do.” 

Hope knows that very much so. In her second year, Clarke had left her dangling upside down by the ceiling when she had made _that_ mistake. 

“Right, of course.” Hope smirks at the memory fondly. It had been beyond embarrassing, but it had taught her a quick lesson about the snakes in her house. Rose wishes her goodnight once more before following all their friends upstairs. 

Despite trying not to, as two in the morning rolls around, Hope’s eyes shut close and the next thing she knows she feels a small weight against her legs. 

“Clarke, don’t _fucking_ mess with me,” she mumbles, still half asleep when she blinks open her eyes groggily, feeling something soft touch the space between her eyes. Her vision comes to her just as the person backs away, and she jolts with a start. 

Had Josie Saltzman just kissed her forehead? 

Hope looks down and finds a bright pink blanket in her lap. 

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice husky from sleep. There’s no one else in the common room, so Hope doesn’t have to pretend here. 

Josie startles and backs away slightly. The pureblood wonders why the brunette seems so surprised that she’s awake. Hope’s eyes catch the time. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, and immediately wants to take it back. She knows right away that she sounds creepy and intrusive. Merlin, she does _not_ need the other girl thinking she had been waiting up for her. That’s not what Hope was doing at all. Yeah. She’s only here for the fire...which she sees is long put out by now. 

“My friends and I were playing a game of Monopoly...” Josie sits down, joining Hope underneath the blanket after a moment’s reluctance. It seems she’s aware that no one else is in the common room as well. “It ran long.” 

Oh. Hope tries not to let that irk her. Of course, Josie has friends, same as her. Except, the only difference is, Hope had been waiting all this time for the other girl while Josie couldn’t even be bothered. 

No. She’s being absurd. Josie couldn’t have known Hope had been wanting to finish their talk if they hadn’t discussed it in the first place. She has _no_ reason to be upset. 

“What’s Monopoly?” Hope asks, instead of the question she wants to. Josie laughs and leans into her side slightly, the radiating warmth of her body scorching Hope’s own. 

With the blanket and Josie, Hope finds no more need for the fire. 

“I’ll explain it to you when it’s not two in the morning,” Josie tells her, sighing quietly as she closes her eyes. Hope thinks that she looks exhausted, and of course, she doesn’t want to add onto that, but she can’t help wonder... 

“So you _don’t_ like Montgomery, then?” 

Josie smiles with endearment. “No, I’ve been trying to tell you that all week.” 

As she says it, her hand moves underneath the blanket and somehow finds Hope’s own. Her fingers brush along the pureblood’s palm, sending her nerves to flames. 

Hope’s eyes snap to hers.

“You’re getting married,” Josie repeats, and Hope can’t tell if she’s sad by it this time, or if she’s just accepted it. Why does she long for it to be the former? 

The pureblood shakes her head. “Not for at least a year.” 

“My friends like to start rumors,” she explains. “The only reason I was doing anything with Carla was to make them happy.” 

Instead of acting exasperated, Josie laughs this time when she butches Clara’s name. 

“Clara.” 

“Right.” Hope swallows the rock in her throat, looking for the right words. Why is this so hard? “I’ll probably still have to take her out tomorrow.” 

There’s no need for the false pretense that Josie hadn’t heard Hope ask the other girl out. 

“I know,” Josie nods, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just...” 

She doesn’t bother to finish her sentence. 

“_I know_,” Hope agrees, wondering if it would be too much if she simply leant forward and kissed the brunette now. They’re already holding hands anyways, right? Yet, it’s not enough. They’re not even a feet apart and for Hope, it’s not enough. 

Josie grips her hand reassuringly, still hidden underneath the blanket, and the pureblood feels a sudden confession worm its way up her throat. It crawls and twists furiously with her vocal cords, and something else entirely ruptures in her heart, asking for relief. 

Her teeth snap open with the force of it, and she almost says—

“I think I...” Shit. 

_No_. 

What had she been about to say? 

“I think I should go to sleep.” Hope looks away and stands up quickly, their hands falling away. The pureblood has the awful, corny thought that her hand feels much colder alone. 

“Oh, yeah,” Josie breathes, standing up, too. Hope holds up the other girl’s pink blanket, smirking slightly as her eyes adjust to the violent color. She hadn’t really looked at it before. 

“Pink?” she asks, and Josie blushes. 

“It’s my favorite,” she pouts, taking it gently. 

Hope decides then and there that she’ll break up or _whatever_ it’s called with Clara as soon as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homenum Revelio: reveals human presence 
> 
> should i make a hosie teen wolf au


	37. Chapter 37

It’s snowing when Hope and her friends get to Hogsmeade. For once, the sky is clear and bright, and the white of the snow only makes everything brighter. Hope watches it all with the same amazed bafflement that she had first experienced it with as a third-year. 

The roof of all the shops are covered with snow as well, but it seems as though someone has taken the time to clear the pathways for students to wander around. 

There’s still large pockets of it in random spots, allowing for innocent snowball fights and the creation of _ugly_ snowmen. Do the students of Hogwarts really have no creativity? Hope thinks so, as she passes one particularly uninspired version with a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around its neck. 

Penelope lingers back behind the group of friends to knock it to the ground, and they all share a moment of laughter. The moment is cut short when the girl almost falls over with the force of a large snowball hitting the back of her head. 

Her hand clamps around Hope’s arm to stop herself from doing so, which causes the pureblood to turn around and instantly get whacked in the face with an even bigger ball. She scowls, looking around for their assailant. 

And then—by the snowman Penelope demolished—_there_ stands an infuriated Elizabeth Saltzman, weighing another piece of snow in her hand with narrowed eyes. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Penelope yells, still slightly dazed. Next to her, Hope is faring much the same. The ball that hit her had felt like a rock instead of the soft snow she imagined. 

“You knocked over my snowman!” the blonde yells back, and when Hope finally recovers from the shock of it all she looks around for the Gryffindor’s sister. It doesn’t seem that she’s with her, but all the rest of Elizabeth’s friends are there, some looking much more reluctant to start a fight than others. Elizabeth herself appears to have no qualms about it. 

“Is that what it was supposed to be? I thought you were going for a troll,” Penelope retorts, composing herself and smirking. Elizabeth gasps dramatically, her mouth falling open. 

“Come on, Lizzie,” her friend Milton tries to pull her away, but she doesn’t budge. At last, the Gryffindor draws her hand back and catapults another snowball at them. It hits Ethan in the chest and he frowns, not expecting to be a target. 

“Guys, we’re above this level of immaturity, let’s go,” Rose attempts to do the same, but her friends have already reacted. All at once, they scramble for their own snowballs, and it becomes a full, fledged-out snowball fight. 

Some students even start coming outside of the shops they’re in to watch, but none try to get involved. One shopkeep begins to scream at all of them at an attempt to disperse the crowd and stop the fight, but everyone just ignores him. A second later he’s hit in the crotch by a snowball nearly a foot in diameter. 

Hope soon realizes that Elizabeth’s aim is utter shit and her first three hits were just luck. Her friends are much better, though, and Hope finds herself on the defensive more often than not. 

She dodges one especially well-aimed snowball thrown by Rafael Waithe, pausing in her own retaliation just as Josie Saltzman and Jade Montgomery walk out of Honeydukes. 

The fighting doesn’t stop around her, of course, and she hides behind a bush for cover as she watches the pair register what’s happening around them. The Slytherin muggleborn takes the lemon pop out of her mouth, her eyes widening adorably, and then she shrieks as a snowball blows the lolly pop out of her hand. Hope watches it fall to the floor and crack against the pavement. 

“What is the _meaning_ of all this?!” A scream comes from just behind Hope, and everyone halts their movements as Madame Rosmerta reveals herself. Several snowballs drop to the ground from frozen hands. Hope turns and swallows at the intimidating sight of the barmaid of the Three Broomsticks. Had she _really_ left her pub just to come over _here_? 

Rosmerta rushes to help up the injured shopkeep, who is still clutching his private parts. Once everyone continues to not answer her, Rosmerta grabs the girl closest to her—a guilty-faced Penelope Park. She seizes her ear and drags her to the middle of the fight. “I ought to floo Dumbledore right this instant and send you all back to Hogwarts with detention!” 

“You don’t even have the authority to do that,” Penelope grumbles quite loudly, and Rosmerta’s grip on her becomes tighter. “Unhand me, you nutty lunatic!” 

Rosmerta pretends that she hasn’t spoken. 

“Now, you lot are all going to either get on with your day, or leave back whence you came, got it?” She shakes the girl in her arms for emphasis, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins nod quickly. Rosmerta looks at them sternly one last time before releasing Penelope, who stumbles back into Rose. 

“I told you we would get in trouble!” Rose says, the crowd nervously scattering in different directions. The sixth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins each go their separate ways, too, but not before Hope can lock eyes with Josie, who tilts her head at her with a look the pureblood can’t decipher. 

“Oh, stop trying to act all innocent.” Maya rolls her eyes, interrupting the girl’s exasperated ranting. “You threw more than the rest of us combined.” 

Rose blushes but doesn’t argue, and the group resume their usual Hogsmeade activities, content to pretend that they didn’t just participate in a snowball fight like a bunch of first-years. 

Hope knows the only reason Penelope started the fight was because she’s been riled up ever since the prank war. The fact that Gryffindor hasn’t yet retaliated from Slytherin’s last prank has only made her more anxious. Hope is anxious as well, for the most part. What’s taking Gryffindor so long to not have pranked them back yet? 

Whatever it is, it can’t be any good, but Hope definitely won’t spend her Saturday thinking about it. She has other things to worry about, like her date this afternoon with Clara. 

On Friday, Maya had acted as a messenger to Clara in Hope’s absence, and the pureblood is now supposed to meet the other girl at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop—the hot spot for couples—in a couple of hours. 

Hope dreads it all terribly much. At least, she thinks, they hadn’t come here together, as was the original plan. Thank _Merlin_ for Maya getting her out of spending the entire day with the girl. 

Hope decides to just not think about it and follows her friends as they visit random stores. She makes sure to buy another pack of ink, though, since she had destroyed the last one she had bought getting distracted by Josie, yet again. 

As the time for her and Clara’s date comes, Hope begins to have second thoughts. She desperately wants to ditch it altogether, but she needs to let the girl down as gently as possible, and she _had_ been the one to ask for a date in the first place. 

Two years ago, maybe, she would have dumped Clara without feeling any guilt at all, but things are different this year, and she no longer cares about herself more than others. 

She can only hope Clara doesn’t take it poorly. 

Around two o’clock, Hope begins to head to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, leaving her friends with great hesitance and ignoring their parting words of good luck. 

She should have probably told them her intentions, but whatever. 

The pureblood is the first one there when she arrives at the storefront, but she doesn’t have to wait long. Clara gets there not a minute after, dropped off by her friends, and the two exchange a short greeting. 

“How are you enjoying Hogsmeade?” Hope asks politely, opening the door for the other girl as they enter the shop. 

“Good.” Clara begins to talk about the new book store she had visited, but Hope doesn’t hear any of it because—there, sitting in the middle of the room, is Josie and..._Jade_, each sipping on their own drink. 

Hope’s face loses all color, but she nods as if to agree to whatever her date is saying. The truth is that she had stopped listening the second she saw Josie, and she had stopped breathing the second she had seen Jade with her. 

The muggleborn is wearing that same beanie she had been wearing the last trip to Hogsmeade, and even from this far, Hope can see snow in her hair. She’s so beautiful, the pureblood can barely look away. But the person right next to Josie nearly _burns_ her eyes, so she has to, anyways. 

_What are they doing here?_ This is a place for couples, and sure, Hope and Rose had come here together many times, but _they_ didn’t like each other, and _Jade_ certainly likes _Josie_. 

Hope tries desperately to remind herself that Josie doesn’t like Jade back, and Clara and her step in line to order their drinks. 

Hope doesn’t like tea very much, but she orders a mug of it anyways. The second she’d seen Jade and Josie sitting together, she had felt the sudden need for something to calm her nerves. It wouldn’t do well for her, after all, to explode in the middle of a tea shop. 

Clara orders a smoothie and some type of muffin, and Hope pays for them both before picking out a spot at the back for them to sit at. Her choice of seating lies much in the fact that she has a perfect view of the muggleborn pair this way. 

“What about you?” 

Hope whips her head at Clara, afraid that she’s been caught staring, but the Ravenclaw seems none the wiser. Hope doesn’t even know what they’ve been talking about, and racks her brain for any clue at all. 

_ Let’s see...book stores, favorite stores, favorite books, favorite...classes!  _

“Herbology, for me,” Hope replies after a brief pause. Clara smiles and sips at her smoothie, which is a blueberry-banana combination that has the pureblood gagging just thinking about it. 

“So you like plants, then?” 

Hope coughs on her tea when she realizes that she went straight back to ignoring the girl after answering. How could she _not_ have? Josie hadn’t even looked at her once since she walked in! 

“Yeah, I find them relaxing, for the most part,” she says, another incredibly short answer, but Clara doesn’t look offended. 

“For the most part?” she inquires curiously. Hope glances off to Josie before replying. 

“Mhmm, well, I did have my hand almost bitten off by one last month, so there’s that,” Hope remarks dryly, and Clara giggles. 

“I think I heard about that,” she admits almost shyly. “Fanged Geranium, right?” 

“Don’t remind me.” Hope pretends to shudder, which has Clara quickly changing the subject to a more pleasant matter. Hope takes the chance to look back over to the muggleborn, her eyes growing dark as she finds Jade attempting to hold Josie’s hand from across the table. 

The hand around her mug of tea tightens, and red grips hotly at her vision. Her fingers even begin to shake and a single drop of liquid falls onto the tabletop. Feeling herself becoming irrationally angry, Hope interrupts Clara in the middle of a story about her family. “I...need some sugar. For my tea, I mean.” 

She ignores how rough her voice sounds and stands up quickly, passing Josie and Jade as she approaches the small condiment bar. She takes a deep breath at an attempt to collect herself, reaching for a napkin when she remembers that she told Clara she needed sugar. 

She turns to grab a sugar packet instead when she bumps directly into another body. She hisses between her teeth after a second of pain, her eyes falling upon the person she bumped into—Jade Montgomery. It seems as though they had both been reaching for the same sugar packet. 

“Watch it, Montgomery,” she bites out. The Gryffindor narrows her eyes, and Hope glimpses Josie right behind her. Her temper devolves even further. 

“I didn’t realize you were so clumsy, it’s almost contagious,” she continues, and then looks at Josie. “I’d be careful touching her if I were you, Saltzman, wouldn’t want you to catch it, too.” 

Josie puts her hands in the pocket of her coat, her lips frowning. Hope hates it. She hates that they’re acting like the day before never happened. She hates that Josie is looking at her once _again_ like she’s the villain. 

“Leave us alone, Mikaelson,” Josie sighs, not even meeting her eyes. The pureblood watches her carefully before making a decision, her eyes flitting to Jade’s. 

Gryffindor. What a load of bullshit. She could not even stand up for her _crush_, how the hell was she supposed to be _brave_? 

“_Gladly_,” Hope snarls, her chest growing too tight for her to handle. She turns back to grab the sugar packet—she can’t go back to Clara without it, after all—and almost grins when she finds that there’s only one left. 

Good. She would get the last packet, and Jade would have to enjoy her tea unsweetened. That’s what she deserves, Hope thinks. 

She keeps her eyes glued to the rainbow tiles of the floor as she walks back to Clara, but doesn’t sit down as she reaches their table. 

“It’s a little hot in here,” she lies, “do you want to walk around outside?”

“Sure.” Hope looks around the shop as Clara collects her things, catching a familiar brunette moving to the back of the room towards the restrooms. 

“Actually—“ Hope starts, but Clara cuts her off before she can make another excuse to follow Josie. 

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking slightly. “You have to use the bathroom?” 

Hope scowls, embarrassed. The girl probably thinks that she has a rather tiny bladder at this point. “I’ll be right back.” 

The door is still drifting closed when Hope comes to stand in front of it, and she slides her body through easily. She immediately finds Josie washing her hands in front of the mirror, and noticing that no one else is in the room, the pureblood locks the door. 

At the sound of the lock clicking, Josie looks up, setting her palms against the counter as she meets Hope’s eyes. 

“Do you have to be so _awful_ to her?” 

_ What? She’s defending Montgomery? _

“Awful? I was being honest,” Hope says slowly, not believing the other girl. _Awful_? She feels the sudden urge to hurt. “She should know her place—“ 

Josie whirls on her. “You can’t say things like that!” 

“You can’t pick and choose when you want to be a blood purist and when you don’t,” she nearly spits out, her eyes bright and burning into Hope. “You either are, or you aren’t. So, which is it?” 

Could the answer be any clearer? The pureblood had kissed Josie—a _muggleborn_—time and time again, and she would do it once more if given the chance to. Does Josie seriously think that means she’s racist? Hope knows she isn’t. She hadn’t cared for blood purity well before Josie had come to the school, she just never showed it. It seems now is the right time to. 

“I’m sorry,” Hope apologizes, as sincerely and softly as she can. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Josie simply stares at her, as if trying to figure out whether she’s being genuine or not. Hope struggles to breathe underneath her harsh gaze. 

“Then why did you say it?” 

The pureblood splutters, not quite anticipating the question. She knows that there’s no simple answer, but the right one definitely shouldn’t be said in a tea shop bathroom. 

“I...” Hope steps forward, extending her hand before thinking better of it and pulling away. She hopes that the other girl can see how much she’s _trying_ in her eyes. “Just believe me, okay? I didn’t mean it.” 

Josie nods, but her silence is too-telling and rings viciously in Hope’s ears. At last, she speaks. “I’ve been in here for too long. I don’t want Jade to become suspicious.” 

She moves to leave, but Hope wraps her fingers gently around her wrist. She resists the pull to touch somewhere else, and asks something that had been on her mind for most of the morning. “Meet me at the Hog’s Head? At seven?” 

“Hog’s Head?” Josie doesn’t appear to be familiar with the place. 

“It’s a small pub—“ 

“You’re taking me to a bar?” 

Hope bristles. “It has food, too. Besides, it’s not very popular. No one should see us.” 

“Perfect, then,” Josie says, so bitterly that it surprises Hope. Of course, she _always_ says the wrong thing. The muggleborn turns towards the door again, and _again_ Hope pulls her back. 

“Hold on,” she says, her heart thudding dangerously at their proximity. Seriously, it’s getting ridiculous. Can her heart not be quiet for _one_ damn second? “I _am_ sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” 

Hope waits in fear of the girl’s response, wondering if she should have not come here at all. It seems that she can only ever make things worse. 

But then, Josie smiles, the barest of upturned lips. Hope immediately takes that previous thought back. “I already have.” 

The brunette dips down slightly to Hope’s height, pressing her lips softly again the skin of her cheek. It’s only for a second or two, but the pureblood’s skin burns as if a branding iron had heated the spot for a full hour. Josie then unlocks the door and leaves. 

Hope counts thirty, long seconds before leaving the bathroom after the muggleborn, her eyes meeting Clara’s immediately. Shit. How long had she been in the bathroom? 

“Ready to go?” the Ravenclaw asks, standing up with her bag. Hope nods and tries her best not to smile like a madwoman from her moment with Josie. She quickly notices something thick and white on the other girl’s face. 

“You have a bit of whipped cream on your lip, by the way,” she says, smirking just a tad. Clara blushes and brings her hand up to her face, missing it by a mile. 

“No, here,” Hope points at the spot on her own face, trying to act as a mirror, but Clara must be an idiot or something because she touches her forehead this time. So much for being a Ravenclaw. 

“Can you get it for me?” Clara asks, after four entire attempts, and Hope laughs. 

“Sure.” She drops her head down to the table and grabs a spare napkin. When she looks back up, Clara’s face is directly in front of her own and then her lips are right on Hope’s. 

The pureblood freezes, standing in shock for about ten seconds until Clara finally pulls away with a playful smile, like she’s just won some great prize. 

Hope can only look at her as her brain struggles to catch up. She almost wipes at her mouth in disgust, almost starts to snap at the other girl when she realizes that people are watching them, including Josie and Jade. Crap. Hope’s voice grows thick. “That’s one way to do it.” 

They leave the shop with Josie’s eyes lingering on the back of her head, charring her hair and skin to soot and ash. 

As they step outside, the pureblood pulls Clara off to the side. 

“I need to tell you something,” she lowers her voice quickly, her heart threatening to jump straight out of her throat if she doesn’t say it, and say it _now_. Clara’s smile drops and she nods reluctantly. 

“I don’t know how to say this,” she starts, probably talking too fast or maybe too slow, she can’t even hear herself speak, her thoughts are so loud, “but I don’t have any feelings for you. I apologize for leading you on, I really thought I could...”

_Grow to like you?_ No, she can’t tell her that.

“It’s okay,” Clara decides to spare her. She smiles again, but not very sadly. “I never had much hope anyways. These last few days have been too good to be true.” 

Damn. 

“And, if I’m being honest,” she adds, when Hope doesn’t immediately say anything. “I was really only in it for the prank war.” 

Hope almost asks her to repeat herself—she’s not sure she heard her right. 

“_What_?” 

“Your friend Maya is cute, though,” she continues, like an afterthought. Hope balks, unable to even comprehend anything coming out of the Ravenclaw’s mouth. 

“But you just _kissed_ me,” she says, eyebrows raised. Clara only continues to smile softly, not too maliciously, not too nicely. 

“That was for a bet with Alyssa Chang,” she explains. “Got me twenty galleons, you did.” 

Hope’s mouth actually drops open. She takes a step back as if she needs space to process everything. The Mikaelson heir cannot understand getting played. 

“Merlin—and I actually felt guilty letting you down!” she says, laughing slightly. “You’re just as bad as I am!” 

“Maybe,” Clara agrees, beginning to drift away. She calls over her shoulder, “I’ll see you around?” 

Hope is glad the other girl knows when to end a date. 

“_Maybe_.” 

—

Just before seven, Hope excuses herself from her friends as they start to travel back to the school. 

“Go on without me,” she tells Rose, who stays behind like she had the night before. “I’ll be quick.” 

“What store did you say you were going to, again?” Rose asks, furrowing her eyebrows and looking at Hope suspiciously. 

“I’ve told you twice now, Dervish and Banges, remember?” The pureblood tries her best to appear innocent, and Rose nods slowly.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone to come with you? I can—“ 

“Really, Nicot, it’s fine,” Hope says, already walking backwards. She really doesn’t want to be late. “Thanks, though.” 

Before the other girl can interrogate her, she starts to walk in the direction of Dervish and Banges, knowing that Rose is still watching her. When she no longer feels her gaze, she turns back and begins the short trek to the Hog’s Head Inn. 

Despite being five minutes late, Hope sees swiftly that Josie hasn’t gotten there yet. She surveys the dingy pub, finding a group of Hogwarts teachers near the bar. Hope’s heart jolts in panic, but she finds relief in the fact that they all look heavily intoxicated. 

She knows that they’re probably too drunk to notice her, despite the room being nearly empty. At the same time, she’s also surprised. It’s only seven, yet it appears as though they’ve been drinking for ages. Empty bottles even surround and clutter up the table they’re seated at. 

Aberforth—the owner—greets her as she shrugs off her coat and sits down at the bar. 

“What can I get for you, Hope?” he asks, swiping at the bar with his dirty rag. She doesn’t particularly mind that the place is filthy, as long as Josie and her can have some peace without being discovered. 

“Two butterbeers, please,” she requests quietly, looking at the door. 

“Expecting company?” Aberforth asks, a small smile on his wrinkly face. Third-year Hope Mikaelson probably would have castrated him for such a question, but they’ve grown close enough over the years that she doesn’t mind. 

Hope looks at him carefully, before choosing to just tell him. It’s not like he can tell anyone else, anyways. He has no friends, and no one even knows his last name. “Yes, I guess I am.” 

After ten minutes of watching the door and no sign of Josie, Hope begins to tentatively sip at her butterbeer. Maybe the other girl got lost? The Hog’s Head isn’t situated in a particularly well-known area, and can be hard to find if someone doesn’t know their way around Hogsmeade. Maybe Hope should have given her better directions? 

After twenty minutes of waiting, Hope finds herself with an empty glass of butterbeer and signals Aberforth for another one. She glances at the still full one she ordered for Josie, feeling apprehension grip at her knuckles. It clenches her fists and pales the skin of them. 

No. Josie had _not_ just ditched her. Surely, only a couple of minutes had passed. Yes. Hope had only _just_ walked into the pub herself, and Josie would get here any second now. 

After thirty minutes, Hope has downed two refills as well as the one she had gotten for Josie, just because she doesn’t want it get warm. That’s the only reason why. It’s not because she doesn’t think the other girl isn’t coming. That’s not it at _all_. 

After forty-five minutes, Hope is bored enough that she starts actively listening in on the professors’ conversations near her. She becomes shocked to hear that they’re _not_ discussing their favorite punishments for students or other uninteresting subjects, but something actually worth hearing about. 

“How dare Dumbledore accuse us of—“ A teacher Hope doesn’t recognize tries to say, only to be cut off. 

“He didn’t accuse us of anything, Burbage,” another one says. “He merely suggested that there had to be _some_ way the Ministry was informed of our...situation...” 

“If you ask me, Burbage is completely right—“ 

“—No one asked you—“

“—There has to be a blabber-mouth among us! How else is the Ministry suddenly _interested_ in Hogwarts? They never cared before,” the man states, his yellow teeth glinting in the dim lighting. 

“Listen to yourself, a _blabber-mouth_?” Hope recognizes Professor McGonagall speaking now. She never knew that the Transfiguration teacher was one to drink. “Are you so inebriated that you’ve lost your eloquence?” 

“It’s the rum, Minerva, you can’t fault me...” 

“Save the lecture for your students!” Burbage interjects. “How _is_ it that word has come to the ministry of the prophecy?” 

Hope’s chest begins to pound at the mention of the prophecy, and she angles her body to hear more. She’s ashamed to admit that she hasn’t thought about the prophecy for a while now. She’s been far too preoccupied with thoughts of a brown-haired muggleborn, who still hasn’t shown her face yet this evening. 

The professors all shush Burbage at once, though, so Hope doesn’t hear whatever he was going to say after. At least, the man has the decency to appear sheepish. 

“Whatever,” someone else adds. “I say, we need to figure out who the squealer is by the time they arrive _tonight_!” 

_ The Ministry is coming  _ tonight _ ? _

_ Is the prophecy  _ so _ important?  _

“I completely disagree.” Hope then notices Professor Vector. She wonders how she hadn’t seen her before. “Now is the time—more than ever—that we need to unite and rise above this. We don’t know for certain that someone...” 

She lowers her voice and then Hope can’t hear anything at all. After another hour, Aberforth approaches her from across the bar. 

“Whoever you’re waiting for isn’t coming,” he says, grabbing the six empty glasses in front of her. 

“I know,” she tells him, still watching the door. 

Her tone is so harsh that he snaps his head up, observing her for several peculiar seconds. He then opens his mouth to say something, and perhaps seeing that she’s not in the mood, he promptly changes his mind. 

She stands up, grabbing her coat on the stool next to her. 

“You can put everything on the Mikaelson tab.” 

Aberforth knows something is wrong when she doesn’t even wish him a goodbye, and he watches her with sad, blue eyes as she swings open the door and then slams it with enough force to shake the entire entrance. 

As the door shuts, nostalgia hits him equally hard, and he remembers the times her father Niklaus Mikaelson used to visit his pub when the man was only a boy. 

He has the lingering thought that him and his daughter are the same in that they both carry their anger too silently, yet far too loudly all at once. 


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tweet was a joke

The owner of the Hog’s Head Inn wipes another shot glass clean with his dirty rag, his eyes on his dead sister’s portrait near the stairs. If only his brother and him had been good enough for her...

For the second time that night, the pub’s door swings open violently. The sound is loud enough to catch the attention of the other inhabitants of the room, namely the staff of Hogwarts. They glance up from their rum as a brunette emerges from the entrance, shaking off the snow in her hair while looking around hysterically. 

From near the bar stools, Aberforth can tell that she’s panicking, worried, or _something_. Although her hands are stuffed in her pockets, it’s very obvious to the man that they’re shaking. Her whole body is shivering actually, but something about the way she is searching around lets him know it’s not because of the cold. 

Upon further inspection, he notices that her right eye is darkened considerably, a purple bruise painting the high point of her cheekbone. In the next second, her eyes meet his and she all but jogs up to him. 

“Hi,” she says, slightly jumpy. At first glance, it seems that she’s a bit nervous, but her words are firm and don’t waver. “You didn’t happen to see a girl my age around here, did you?” 

He furrows his eyebrows oblivously, as if thinking. In truth, no one her age except for Hope Mikaelson had been here all night, but he isn’t going to just hand her that information. The Mikaelson heir might just kill him. “You’re going to have to get a little bit more specific than that...” 

His blue eyes twinkle, much like his brother’s, and the girl looks at him very carefully before sighing in exasperation. “Fine.” 

She taps her foot impatiently. “She’s kind of short. Blue eyes?” 

Aberforth just looks at her blankly. 

The brunette continues after a moment of hesitation. “Walks into every room like she owns the place...?” 

The man laughs, but the girl looks dead serious. He thinks that he might as well tell her at this point. The next Hogsmeade weekend isn’t due for two weeks, so Hope will have to wait to try to murder him. “Oh, yeah, Miss Mikaelson? She left five minutes ago.” 

He hasn’t even finished his sentence before she starts to sprint out of the door, and the professors near the bar all stare at each other in horror, having heard everything. 

—

Hope turns into the main street of Hogsmeade, blinking quickly to quell the tears rising in her eyes. No. She isn’t going to cry, and especially not for something so idiotic. 

The slight buzz from the butterbeer is getting to her, that’s all. She’s just feeling a little emotional, nothing more. It means nothing to her, that Josie ditched her. _Nothing_. 

“Hope!” 

The pureblood pauses for just a second, and then continues to walk as if no one had spoken. What does it mean, that her stomach flutters like butterflies with razor-blade wings? What does it mean, that her nails dig half-moons into white-hot palms? 

“Hope, please!” 

It means nothing. _Nothing_. 

Hope hastens her pace, her feet pounding into white snow and black road, until a gloved hand pulls her back. Josie Saltzman appears before her, panting so quickly that her breath fogs in front of her from the cold. Her labored breathing calms down after a short minute. “You know I’m not as athletic as you are. Can you please just—“ 

Hope shoves passed her gently, her teeth chattering. “No.” 

The pureblood’s surroundings blur around her. She can’t tell if it’s because she’s walking so quickly or if it’s because there are angry-tears in her eyes. She is not hurt. She is only _angry_. 

She sees that the entire street is empty, now. Hope’s head is empty, too. The shops are empty. The trees are empty. The sky is empty. Hope’s chest is empty. Everything feels _empty_.

Whatever, she can be as dramatic as she wants. She had spent the entire afternoon getting excited for their little date, all for it to go to shit because Josie couldn’t be bothered to show up. 

“Hope, please...” 

The pureblood snaps. “No.” 

Her voice sounds like someone scraped a knife against her tongue. The short syllable cuts into her skin and makes her head throb. A part of her wants to give up the pretense and let Josie leap into her waiting arms, but her pride can’t possibly take that. 

“Let me explain—“ Josie tries again. 

“You know what, Saltzman?” Hope whips around, her eyes ablaze. They burn like fire inside the ocean—impossibly, with no real flame. Josie winces as the pureblood shrugs her hand away. Hope can’t even look at her. “I don’t particularly _enjoy_ being stood up.”

“Please, Hope, please—“ 

“No. _No_.” If Hope hears another _please_, said like _that_, she might give in. The pureblood rubs a hand against her aching forehead. She suddenly feels sweltering in her clothes. She clenches a fist and drops it. “I was willing to try at this.” 

“I was _willing_,” she repeats. The snow looks so peaceful on the ground. She hates it immediately. It doesn’t feel right. Why should everything else be fine when _she_ isn’t? “Despite _everything_, despite all our shitty circumstances and your background...” 

She continues to walk away as she trails off, and Josie comes to stand in front of her once more. “_My_ background?” 

“Yes, _your_ background.” Hope stops so she doesn’t bump into the other girl, her eyes glaring into a tree over Josie’s shoulder. She wills it to die and shrivel away into nothing, but it only sways in the breeze and mocks her. “I was willing to look past it, but all you’ve done is thrown that back in my face.” 

She hasn’t looked the other girl in the eye once yet. She’s scared she’ll forgive her immediately. Her voice comes out too bitter. “I was so blind before, but I can see perfectly _clear_ now. You don’t want us to work _this_ bad? Fine. It’s—it’s over.” 

Her voice cracks at the very edges, and she clenches her teeth and shuts her eyes, turning away once again in a poor attempt to hide the way her lip trembles. She can’t help herself, and rounds promptly on her heels to stride away. 

She doesn’t make it very far before that same iron-grip clutches her arm. She turns around to shove the muggleborn off, but it seems that Josie isn’t expecting it and they stumble into each other. 

Hope catches her with two hands at her hips, dropping them instantly when Josie stills, as if being burned. Her hands certainly feel singed, and the feeling travels all the way to her head. A memory glints in her mind’s eye of lips and teeth.  


  
_This_ is why Hope needs to distance herself. This close, this near Josie, she can’t remember the reason she wants to be mad, and can only think about kissing the other girl instead. 

Josie sighs, sucking in a ragged breath. She leans over, still breathing heavily, like she’s just participated in an entire quidditch tournament. The weather and exertion colors her cheeks pink. “Do you _really_ think so poorly of me?”

At the question, the pureblood’s gaze glances up to Josie’s own for the first time, and then for good at what she sees—a dark bruise circling the socket of the brunette’s eye. Her own face loses all apathy, the expressionless mask falls off. 

“What happened?” She sounds breathless herself, she knows, but the sight of the other girl’s black eye steals the air in her lungs far too greedily. Josie blinks. 

“It was an accident,” she hurries to say, understanding the deadly tone to Hope’s voice quickly enough. The pureblood reaches out, her anger for Josie gone. Funny, how easily the hot steam fogging her brain had extinguished within a single second—how easily she had forgotten her fury, how easily she had forgotten the cold around them. 

“That’s now what I asked, was it?” she murmurs softly, her fingers skimming the brunette’s cheekbone. Josie’s eyes flutter shut at the light touch. Hope pulls back immediately, and her fingers twitch by her side with _longing_ to reach out again. “Does it hurt?” 

“No,” she answers quietly. “Lizzie helped me heal it, but we couldn’t find any bruise removal paste.” 

“Who did it?” Josie stays silent. 

“Who. Did. It?” The muggleborn’s eyes shoot open at her dangerous tone, and she parts her lips before looking at something passed Hope’s shoulder distractedly. Then, her pupils become wide and terrified, her jaw slackening as she chokes on an exhale. A shiver crawls up the pureblood’s spine as she watches the other girl turn to stone in front of her. 

She tilts her head apprehensively, her lips forming the words, “What’s wrong?” They never leave her mouth, however. 

A chill like a thousand icicles sticks to her back, forcing all of the air out of her and nearly making her fall to her knees. She can barely hold herself up, and her legs wobble precariously. 

Where the cold of the air was tolerable before, it now feels vast and unrelenting, seeping into her coat with the force of a blizzard. Every breath is like inhaling ice, and Hope feels her lungs freeze inside her chest. With dread pooling in her stomach, she twists her body to face whatever had caught the muggleborn’s attention. 

She catches a dark, gliding figure coming towards them from the sky. It has no face, no eyes, but even from the distance, Hope can see a large, gaping mouth perfectly. She recognizes the creature almost instantly from her textbooks: a dementor. 

Everything she had read had been right, she realizes. The authors were right when they said it was exactly like staring into a black hole, and as the creature comes closer, Hope feels every single good emotion she has ever felt leeched out from her all at once—every bad emotion she has ever felt suddenly appears tenfold, and she gets the overwhelming feeling that she will never be happy again. 

“Josie...” She has never hated the sound of the muggleborn’s name on her lips more. She sounds scared, she sounds like a coward. If only she could get her feet to move.   


“Josie, run.” The brunette shakes her head, gripping Hope’s coat tightly from behind the pureblood. Hope fumbles for her wand in her pocket as the air continues to mute around them. The dementor is near enough now that she can see its long, skeletal hands. They allow the creature to appear deceptively weak and fragile, which Hope knows is not true as fear grips her by the neck. 

“Expecto...” she trails off weakly, her energy depleting so quickly she can barely keep her hold on the wand in her hand. It falls from her grip a second later, and she watches it frost over with the chill of the ground. The air becomes foggy around her, growing white and thick as the temperature drops to devastating numbers. 

The dementor finally reaches them after—no. Hope doesn’t know how much time has passed. Has it been an hour, or just a minute? Is it the next day already, or have they wandered back in time? She has no idea. 

The space in front of Hope becomes hazy as a dark, indistinguishable face stares deeply into her own. When its hand wraps around her throat, all she can do is stare. With a silent scream, the dementor opens its mouth and begins to devour her soul. 

She sways forward as her eyes droop with exhaustion, barely having the stamina to stand let alone cast a complicated spell to dispel the creature away. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” 

The last thing she sees before she succumbs to the blackness within her is a dragon. It dances across her vision like a white ghost, leaving flames across the pureblood’s skin. The ghost whispers a seductive lullaby in her ear, and in her sleep, she dreams of fire. 

—

Hope sits up with a start, looking around with wide eyes. Her hair is still soaking wet, so she figures it can’t be too long since she fainted. 

“You are safe, Miss Mikaelson.” Snape stands across from her, his eyes trained on her face. How long had he been staring at her in her slumber? “Do not panic. Here, have some chocolate. It should make you feel better.” 

“_Chocolate_? Are you fucking kidding me?” She searches the room in vain, slapping away his offering of the sweet snack. His lips purse at the profanity, but he doesn’t comment. “Where’s Jos—Saltzman?” 

Hope flushes at the slip-up, but it looks as if Snape can’t care less. He only raises his eyebrows with amusement and remarks dryly, “Making friends, are we?” 

Hope shakes her head and ignores him, running her hands along her pants nervously. She observes that her coat is still damp, too. She slides it off and stands up from the bed, her eyes fixed everywhere but at Snape.

“You must eat,” he insists, waving the bar in front of her face again. 

“Eat? How can I? How can anyone?” Her voices becomes frantic. What the hell is going on? She panics for another long moment before finally looking at Snape, whose brows are knitted strangely. She speaks with heavy trepidation. “Where is she?” 

  
The infirmary is completely desolate, bare for Pomfrey, who Hope can see in her small office.   
  


“Must you be so stubborn?” Snape drawls, which does nothing to assuage her fears. “Miss Saltzman appears to be in good health. She is presently having a conversation with the headmaster himself. The instant you finish this—“ 

He holds the bar up again, with great emphasis. “—We’ll join them.” 

Hope grabs the chocolate from him and snuffs it down in a matter of seconds. The professor smirks rather unpleasantly, and they begin to walk in the direction of Dumbledore’s office. 

“So, what happened?” Hope asks, after a stretch of silence. Snape glances at her peculiarly. 

“You don’t remember?” 

“Well, I do,” she says, her words unsure. “I just don’t know how I ended up in the hospital wing. Again.” 

“Yes,” Snape agrees with a smirk. “You’re bound to set a record.” 

She rolls her eyes and urges him to continue. 

He does so with a quiet sigh. “You fainted shortly after the dementor took ahold of you. As I’ve said many times in class, a dementor seeks to feed and drain hope and happiness out of their victim. For the optimistic person, it can take a while. For you, it didn’t take so long.”

Hope bristles, the bones of her rib cage creaking. Is she truly such a despicable person that the dementor had gotten to her so quickly? _Was_ she really...an easy target?   


“Some professors arrived on the scene in seconds, but they weren’t quick enough to draw their wands. Luckily, maybe for the _both_ of you, Miss Saltzman was able to cast a full, corporeal patronus, which drove the dementor away for good.” 

Snape says nothing else, and Hope doesn’t ask for anymore details. She simply uses the silence and time to digest the information.

Within a couple of more minutes, they come to stand in front of the Headmaster’s office. 

Snape looks at her expectantly as he glances at the Gargoyle statue. She tries to seem oblivious, wanting to hear the Headmaster’s precious password. Snape sighs, vexed. 

“Cover your ears, you insolent girl—“

“Fine.” 

Hope rolls her eyes and covers her ears, but she hears everything that comes next perfectly:

The pureblood immediately knows that nothing will ever compare to the moment Snape huffs, and in the most somber, serious tone of voice, declares, “Tutti-Fruitti.” 

Hope snickers loudly, not even able to pretend that she hadn’t been listening. “You’re telling me that the man responsible for the security of this school, has his office password set to the name of a jelly bean flavor?” 

The entrance falls open and Snape drags her through it, his face screwed up in irritation as she continues to laugh. She feels almost guilty; Hope knows that she’s the reason for most of his worry lines. 

She manages to sober up by the time they reach Dumbledore’s office, and the pair wander into a rather boring conversation between the headmaster and Josie Saltzman about the properties and uses of bruise removal paste. 

“Ah, Miss Mikaelson,” the old man acknowledges, nodding to Snape. “Severus.” 

The DADA professor makes a sound of acknowledgement but Hope doesn’t even respond. Her eyes are set on the brunette seated only yards away from her. The fact that she stood her up earlier is the farthest thing from Hope’s mind. 

The pureblood realizes that she looks fine. Her face is a _little_ pale, the light in her eyes a _little_ dim, but she’s not dead or dying. She looks fine. She looks—

Beautiful. 

“Miss Saltzman and I were just discussing the importance of bruise removal paste, if one should ever need it.” 

It seems that Josie’s black eye is the hippogriff in the room. Hope swallows, her eyes tracing the bruise with anger. When she gets her hands on whoever did that...

“Right,” she pureblood agrees. She stares openly at Josie, who shifts uncomfortably underneath her gaze. “Very important.” 

“Though,” Hope adds, glaring at Dumbledore. Merlin, she really hates that awful man. “The safety of those who live in this school is rather important also, right?” 

Dumbledore nods, unfaltering. It only serves to annoy Hope further, and her voice takes on a threatening note. She doesn’t care that she sounds like a spoiled brat. “Should my _family_ ever hear that a student has come to any harm on school grounds, now that would be very troubling for them, wouldn’t you say?”

Josie looks over at her in shock, just the slightest movement of her eyebrows raising and her nose flaring, but Hope catches it and feels disappointed in herself all the same.

Dumbledore nods solemnly. “Perhaps I should start there. I am very sorry for what you and Miss Saltzman have gone through tonight. I have already given my apologies to your classmate, so I will direct these next words to you.” 

“The presence of the dementor was a simple mistake, one which will not happen again.” He looks at Snape briefly, a dash of accusation in his eyes, before focusing back to Hope. The pureblood doesn’t think she saw him at the pub, but the lighting _was_ pretty terrible. “As I suspect you already know...” 

The pureblood raises her eyebrows. “I have recently come into contact with the Ministry of Magic, or rather, they have come into contact with me. Days ago, they detected an anomaly of sorts within our wards, and wished to check it out in person.” 

_Lie_.

“They sent Ministry officials to conduct this business, but these administrators were not well-informed.” 

_Lie_.

“They mistakenly believed the school to be in a state of emergency, and against their better judgement—you must forgive me for any implied slander—they decided to bring protection.” 

_Lie_. 

“This so-called protection materialized in the form as dementors for guardians, or bodyguards if you will. Since well before Azkaban, the Ministry has employed the use of these dark creatures for themselves, and this was no exception, I’m afraid.”

_Lie_.

“I can offer no explanation passed ill-advised decisions and foolhardy recklessness.” 

_Lie_.

“For now, I have taken care of these Ministry officials. They shall not visit this school, unless I so graciously allow it,” he finishes, smiling gently as if he had not just lied _straight_ to her face. “Once again, I apologize sincerely. I trust that you can understand.” 

A frown snaps the corner of Hope’s bottom lip. “What was the anomaly?” 

Dumbledore blinks, not anticipating to be called out so brazenly. “I beg your pardon, dear?” 

“With the wards? What was wrong with them?” she implores. Josie whips her head in her direction and narrows her eyes, something akin to curiosity in her chocolate depths.

“I would love nothing more than to explain it to you,” Dumbledore says, after a noticeable beat of silence. All Hope can hear is: lies, lies, lies. It’s fine, though. She expects nothing more from the old man. “However, it is utterly imperative that this matter be kept confidential.” 

Hope smirks, tilting her head. “So much for _trust_.” 

He chooses to ignore her. “If there aren’t anymore questions, I would like to reward you both for your displays of courage. In particular,Miss Saltzman has shown great magical skills that I haven’t seen in a student for years. I must say, well done on your patronus. My staff felt very honored, indeed, to witness such a graceful spirit. To add, I must commend you for your quick thinking. I dread to think it may have saved both of your lives. Miss Mikaelson should certainly be thankful. Fifty points to Slytherin.” 

Hope turns her head to watch Josie’s reaction again, wondering if she had just imagined the dragon or if—

“That said,” Dumbledore continues. “You and Miss Mikaelson were caught in Hogsmeade after curfew. Furthermore, my dear friend Poppy tells me that, upon a deeper examination, Miss Mikaelson was found with an unhealthy amount of toxins in her body.” 

Everyone in the room knows what that means: Hope Mikaelson was a tad bit tipsy in the Hog’s Head Inn. 

The pureblood drops her head in shame as Dumbledore stares pointedly at her. The bastard even looks _amused_. 

Josie just peers at the floor, a look in her eyes Hope would not be able to interpret even if she was looking right at her. “While it terribly discomforts me to punish those that have already suffered _so_ much—“

He sounds so insincere that Hope wants to kidnap his immortal bird and feed the old man to it by force. “—I have been advised that it does not do well to ‘play favorites,’ as the kids say nowadays. Forgive me, but you will both serve two days of detention with Professor Snape.” 

This time, neither of the girls even blink or try to argue their way out of it. Getting in trouble has become somewhat of a habit, for them. Hope _even_ nods in response, but Josie stays still. 

“Lastly, I would like the both of you to be checked over once again by Madame Pomfrey at the earliest convenience. Severus will escort you both to the hospital wing shortly, if only to confirm that there are no lasting adverse effects.”

His eyes twinkle like stars as he smiles like the crescent of a waning moon. Hope thinks very briefly that the man looks like the night sky. “Didn’t you just say that Pomfrey already examined me?” 

“Did I?” Dumbledore chuckles, and dismisses them both with a begrudging Professor Snape trailing behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t worry, hope will still teach josie how to fly


	39. Chapter 39

“Hmm.” For what feels like the hundredth time, Madame Pomfrey makes another indecisive sound. “Huh. _Mhmm_.” 

“Can I go or not?” Hope growls out. Josie sits in the bed next to her without complaint, waiting to be examined herself. She looks so innocent and adorable, her legs swinging back and forth where she sits, that Hope has to tear her gaze away and actively attempt to not stare or think about her. 

Finally, Pomfrey pockets her wand and opens her mouth. “Unfortunately, I will need more information to come to an accurate conclusion. Please excuse me.”

Then she stands up and actually _leaves_ the infirmary. Hope watches her go with a dirty look, her eyes softening when they fall back to Josie, as they so usually do. 

Pomfrey had placed the bruise removal paste on the muggleborn’s eye about ten minutes ago, and it had already started working. 

The only sign that the muggleborn ever got hurt to begin with is a slight, yellow-green discoloration on the right side of her face. It leaves Hope shaking on the inside, leaves her fingers tingling for want to lash out, leaves her teeth grinding restlessly against each other. 

How could she have been so upset, when Josie was hurt? How could she have treated her so _awfully_, when the other girl had done _nothing_ wrong? 

The pureblood stares Josie openly, wishing she can reach out, wishing she can touch her and comfort her even though she has no right, even though Pomfrey can walk back in any second now. 

The muggleborn stares back, a look on her face Hope can’t interpret from across their beds, before her eyes flit to the ground and she stops swinging her legs. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you waiting,” Josie murmurs softly, still staring at the tile of the floor. “You have to believe me. I would never, _never_...” 

“Okay.” Josie sighs with resignation, doing away with any false pretenses. “I thought about it, but I wasn’t going to _actually_ stand you up—“ 

Hope raises her eyebrows as the other girl babbles on. 

“I was just upset that Clara went and kissed you right in front of me, and then everything went downhill with...” Her words taper off as if she’s caught herself before saying something she shouldn’t. Hope frowns, standing up off her own bed. The set of her jaw becomes deadly. 

“I was patient earlier, Josette,” she says, her voice as sharp as ice. Her eyes trace the light bruise on the muggleborn’s face with gritted teeth. “I am no longer. Who hurt you?” 

Josie bites her bottom lip hesitantly, dropping her head down to her chest. Hope’s fingers skim across her chin, gently lifting her head up to meet the pureblood’s eyes. The brunette’s jaw seems to relax within her grasp, and her eyelids drop shut for just a second. 

“I won’t ask again now.” The tone of Hope’s voice is soft but firm, and Josie reaches out and grabs her fingers with her own sweetly, pulling their hands from her face into her lap. The nerves on the pureblood’s own hand jump underneath her pliant touch. 

“I...” She sucks in a breath. Hope imagines that she wants to say this correctly, wants to say it in the best way that won’t upset the pureblood. It’s too bad that she already is. “It really was an accident.” 

“She didn’t mean to.” _Who_ didn’t mean to? Hope listens very carefully. “I told...Jade I didn’t return her feelings. She didn’t take it very well. I was trying to comfort her, and I guess I got too close to her and she—she didn’t mean to. She was really, very sorry.” 

Jade? That insufferable Gryffindor brat? How dare she hurt someone she claims to have feelings for, how dare she lay a hand on someone who is supposedly her friend. How dare she make Josie think it was her fault, how dare the brunette even accept her apology! 

_Jade_.

The name becomes slimy in her head, playing over and over again with deeply-rooted anger. 

“Okay.” Hope stands up, oddly calm. She can blame whatever she does next on the prank war, or Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. No one would have to know her true intentions, and Jade would have no choice but to let the pureblood strangle her after committing such an atrocity. 

“Okay?” Josie knits her brows together and narrows her eyes. She stands up with Hope and pulls her closer by their hands. 

“Give me her common room password,” Hope says quietly, eyes on the door. The second Josie utters the password, she’ll leave and find that unintelligent moron. She’ll fucking give that imbecile her _own_ black eye, and see how she feels about that. 

“What?” Josie swallows, her face screwing up in confusion. 

“I know you know it,” Hope tells her plainly, her mind crowding with all the different thoughts on how she can kill Jade. “Just say the words, and...”

She breathes deeply, setting her eyes onto Josie’s with reassurance. 

“I’ll handle it.” 

“Handle it?” Josie frowns, tugging her even closer. Hope brushes her fingers across the other girl’s knuckles, silently urging her to let go and to let Hope do this. “How do you plan on doing that?” 

The pureblood doesn’t answer. 

“It’s late. Everyone is asleep,” Josie continues, her eyes almost pleading. Hope huffs. 

“I’ll just kill her in her sleep then.” She’s not even joking. 

The muggleborn only scoffs, not angry but taken aback instead. “No, you won’t.” 

“Yes, I will. I shall defend your honor,” Hope states with dramatic gallantry, and the look Josie gives her tells the pureblood just how much she thinks of that notion. 

_Whatever_, she’ll just threaten the portrait outside the Gryffindor common room to let her in, or she’ll blackmail it out of an unsuspecting first-year. She doesn’t truly need Josie for this part. 

She pats their clasped hands one more time before moving passed the brunette, who pulls her back by the collar. 

“Would you just sit down?” she hisses, causing Hope to bristle hotly underneath her attention. “I don’t know what’s with you, and everyone else, thinking that I can’t protect myself or that I need people to ‘defend my honor.’ I can take care of myself.” 

Josie says it all in such a way that suggests her friends had reacted the same as Hope, in such a way that Hope thinks this isn’t the first time she’s given this speech. 

The glare that Hope has been uselessly trying to keep on her face smooths out. She cracks a smirk. “Oh, so what you’re saying is that we should _both_ go kill her, _together_?” 

A smile flickers against a corner of Josie’s lips, very faintly, as if she’s trying to remain serious. She can’t for very long, however, and her face breaks out with laughter. 

“That’s not it at all,” she giggles, sitting down with a shake of her head. Hope spares a single glance in the direction Pomfrey left before sitting down along side of her, so close that that their thighs touch. 

“She can’t get away with hurting you,” Hope says gently, with an air of finality, once their laughter dissolves. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Hope,” the muggleborn murmurs very slowly, turning her head to connect their eyes. An odd expression crosses her face. “That’s not up to you.” 

Hope swallows and nods, feeling like a child being scolded. How could she have forgotten that it wasn’t her place to protect the other girl? How could she have forgotten that Josie isn’t truly hers, and that she never would be? 

The pureblood glances away, a sour look on her own face, her eyes catching on the rain pouring through the window. 

“Fine,” she agrees. She would make Jade suffer one day, but perhaps not tonight. “I should thank you, then.” 

Josie tilts her head, puzzled. 

“For saving my life,” she clarifies, a lump of emotion in her throat she can hardly speak passed. “It seems that you could not have had _better_ timing.” 

The muggleborn shakes her head quickly. 

“No. _No_,” she says. Hope frowns. “Can’t you see? It was my fault we even got attacked in the first place!” 

“How?” 

“If I had just showed up on time,” Josie explains, “none of this would have happened. You would be fine—“ 

“I am fine,” Hope interrupts. “It’s not your fault that _Montgomery_ suddenly decided to pick up a violent streak.” 

She spits out the name, dropping her head to the floor. “It is only my own that I took so long to forgive you. I’m terribly sorry for assuming you had ill intentions.” 

“_Hope_.” 

She should stop rambling, she knows, but Hope can’t seem to help herself. What’s worse is that she knows her words are too proper and dated, but old-fashioned talk has become a habit of hers whenever she becomes emotional. She and her uncle Elijah share that particular trait. 

“Nevertheless, I am alive because of you,” she continues, turning her body to look Josie in the eyes earnestly. “The Mikaelson house is forever indebted to yours.” 

Josie rolls her eyes and makes a disbelieving sound at the back of her throat, but Hope thinks her eyes look suspiciously wet. 

“Stop,” the muggleborn says, her laughter coming out like water. She leans into Hope’s side and bumps their shoulders. The heat of her body against Hope’s makes the pureblood shiver somehow. “You’re so silly sometimes.” 

Hope chuckles shortly. 

“I’m very serious, actually,” she tells her, placing a single hand on the thigh next to hers.Josie’s eyes shoot down, and Hope gulps messily. She had not meant to do that. She hurriedly pulls away—her hand burning to flames, her cheeks on fire—trying to appear casual instead. “It’s tradition. Name your price, Miss Saltzman.” 

Josie stops laughing at the intensity of Hope’s gaze. She parts her lips and the pureblood’s mouth runs unbelievably dry as the muggleborn’s tongue swipes against her bottom one. 

Hope braces a hand in the sheets, leaning forward despite her best efforts not to. She feels a weird urge to be close enough to breathe the same air as the other girl. 

“O-okay,” the brunette says, almost shakily. Her eyes slip to Hope’s own lips as they come closer. “I want...” 

She seems to lose her words at their proximity, her eyes fluttering closed and then opening repeatedly, as if she can’t decide. It’s silent for a long moment, then, at last:

“Kiss me.” 

Hope sighs quietly in relief, her own eyes becoming heavy-lidded with desire. How long had it been since they last kissed? A day or two? It feels like it’s been a lifetime. 

“As you wish,” she whispers, her own lips trembling, her mind flying back to a couple of weeks before, when Josie had rejected her in detention, when she hadn’t let Hope kiss her. It’s the same words, but with a different context and a different meaning that has Hope wondering if—if Josie can hear the unspoken promise loud and clear, if the brunette remembers the same as her. 

She thinks that maybe Josie does, because her pupils dilate so remarkably that they suck Hope in like a black hole. 

Their lips brush achingly slowly, merely two mouths sliding against one another but Hope feels it down to her _bones_ anyways. She shifts her head to deepen the kiss, when—

The doors of the infirmary bang open, and the two spring apart so violently that Hope falls to the floor. She stays there as she recognizes the sounds of her friends’ voices. 

“Oooh, look who the dementor dragged in.” Fucking Penelope. Had her friends really heard everything already? It had only been an hour or two since it all happened. “A shame it didn’t kill you, Saltzman.” 

“That’s not funny, P,” Hope hears Rose say. Should she get off the floor or remain a puddle of embarrassment? She doesn’t yet know. “Where’s Hope? Snape said—“ 

“Mikaelson,” Ethan cuts her off. “Why are you on the floor?” 

“Ow,” is all Hope answers, before Madame Pomfrey makes an appearance out of nowhere next to all of them. 

“Forgive me for interrupting.” Hope thinks that she doesn’t sound too terribly apologetic or even like she particularly wants their forgiveness. “I can conduct your examination in my office, Miss Saltzman.” 

Hope listens to the sound of Josie’s feet hurriedly hitting the tile in her rush to get away from the pack of purebloods. 

“What did you do?” Penelope snarls to her as she passes them, and the girl in question lifts her head up to catch Penelope motioning to her limp body. 

Hope isn’t facing her, but she can practically hear Josie rolling her eyes. The brunette shrugs. “I crucioed her.” 

Hope snickers underneath her breath and manages to stand up just as Josie shoves herself through her friends and follows Pomfrey into the hospital wing’s office. The pureblood gazes after her with something her friends can’t describe, but Rose Nicot knows it all too well: unmistakable longing. The girl frowns in contemplation, remembering many different instances when she had seen that same look on Hope’s face—all such instances in front of the muggleborn. 

“Well...” Penelope narrows her eyes at Hope expectantly. “What were you doing with her?” 

Hope nearly chokes, her head buzzing to think of an excuse, which only makes the other girl more irritated as she takes a while to answer. 

“Defend yourself, Mikaelson.” She scowls. 

“And what about Clara, H?” Maya adds, her eyes holding anger as well. “She told me that you basically dumped her in the middle of the streets.”

“I...that, that’s not,” Hope stammers out. She had thought that her and Clara were on good terms, but clearly not. Maybe their break up hadn’t be so easy after all. “That’s not true.” 

“Hold on,” Ethan says, confused. “You dumped her? We spent the whole week trying to—“ 

“_Enough_!” Rose snaps out of her thoughts, whirling on all of them with obvious indignation. “All of you! How dare you? You should be ashamed of yourselves! Hope is our _friend_.” 

She watches as Penelope, Maya, and Ethan lower their gazes to the floor. 

“Yet, you have the gall to _interrogate_ her, someone you’ve known for years? Right after she’s been attacked by a dementor?” She laughs humorlessly, before her face hardens. “Get out, all of you!”

The three of them splutter out apologies and explanations, but Rose has none of it. “_Now_!” 

They all leave rather quickly after that, with Rose crossing her arms and staring them down until they get passed the doors. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks, sitting down. Her eyes flit over the pureblood’s face intently. 

“Drained,” Hope admits, stretching out her arms. 

“A _dementor_,” Rose shakes her head, breathing out the word like she can’t quite believe it. She moves to get up very hesitatingly. “I imagine you’d like some peace and quiet.” 

Hope stops her before she can even stand up completely. “No, actually.” 

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been quite lonely tonight. Would you stay with me?” 

“Always,” Rose says, so sincerely that it knocks the breath out of Hope’s chest. She watches Rose for a long moment, trying to figure out the emotion in her eyes. Why does she look...remorseful? 

“Why do you look like that?” Hope asks, pinning Rose with a deliberate gaze. 

“Like what?” Rose looks away. 

“Like you’re guilty,” Hope tells her, seeing her unravel right in front of her. 

“I...I don’t know how to say this sort of thing,” Rose starts with much reluctance. Dread stabs Hope in the throat, and she tries her best not to cough with the sudden, bad feeling about where this is going. “But I followed you, earlier. At Hogsmeade.” 

_Shit_.

“It’s just...” She takes a deep breath. Hope sits completely still. “You were being so weird, and I wanted to know why.” 

“I saw you.” She stares at Hope like she’s expecting her to crack and spill everything. When the pureblood just stares back, trying to appear oblivious, Rose explodes. “At the Hog’s Head, I mean. I can’t believe you lied to me!” 

“I didn’t.” 

“You told me you were visiting Dervish and Banges,” Rose remarks. Hope swallows. She had forgotten she said that. 

“Oh, yeah,” she remembers. “I guess I did.” 

“You seriously snuck off to get drunk in a bar?” Rose exclaims. Hope continues to say nothing at all. She had been watching the door the entire time she was in there, how had she not seen the other girl? “I’m...” 

“I’m terribly sorry I left you,” she adds. Hope thinks her apology sounds much too familiar to another girl’s own, and her mind begins to wander. “If I hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t be in here right now.” 

She looks around the hospital wing sadly, and Hope forces herself to snap away from her Josie-filled thoughts. 

“I just couldn’t bear to see you like that, with all those empty bottles surrounding you,” she confesses, and when Hope looks into her eyes, she sees tears in them. “I’m so sorry.” 

The pureblood starts laughing uncontrollably. She bends over as her stomach starts to hurt. 

“Would you stop laughing at me?” Rose looks very offended, indeed. “I’m trying to apologize correctly!” 

“No,” Hope wheezes, through barks of snickers. “It’s just—oh, Merlin—you think I’m an alcoholic?” 

She starts laughing again. Rose continues to look offended. 

“Well...yes...”

“No,” Hope tells her, once her laughter subsides. “That’s not what happened at all. Sure, I had a few butterbeers, but that’s not _real_ alcohol. You mustn’t worry.” 

Rose sighs heavily with the reassurance. “Thank _God_, I was afraid I would have to admit you to some sort of rehabilitation program. Wait—“ 

She cuts herself off, her eyebrows drawing together. She looks at Hope dreadfully slowly. 

“What were you really doing then?” She pauses, thinking hard before turning once again to Hope. “Does it have something to do with why you were with Saltzman?” 

There is no accusation in her voice. There is no inflection or emphasis on any word, but Hope’s heart begins to pound all the same. She searches desperately for an out, and her mind thinks very quickly. 

“Hey,” Hope murmurs, looking off into the distance. “Did you just say ‘God’? Isn’t that a muggle term?” 

Hope is sure she had heard Josie say it on several accounts, but she had never recognized the word. Hopefully it’ll be enough to distract the other girl if she’s right. 

Rose’s throat bobs. “I think I just heard my mother calling my name,” she says, and scurries off. 

“Your mother isn’t even here!” she calls after her, satisfied when Rose disappears behind the doors. 

It seems that they’re _both_ hiding something. 

—

Hope leaves the infirmary in the early hours of the morning, after spending most of her time trying to annoy Pomfrey to get her to allow Hope to go. 

Really, the nerve of that woman! She had dismissed Josie directly after examining her, yet Hope had to remain there for much longer—and for _what_ reason? It’s not like the dementor had _actually_ sucked her entire soul out of her body...

Her friends are all waiting up for her when she comes through the common room entrance. 

“Mikaelson, allow me to apologize,” Penelope says immediately, standing up from her seat on an armchair. Maya shoves her.

“You bitch, I said I wanted to go first,” Maya pushes her again, and Penelope does the same in retaliation. 

“Just so you can piggy-back off of me?” Penelope drawls. “I don’t think so—“

Hope raises her eyebrows in amusement and tunes them out, meeting Rose’s eyes by accident. They both look away, their conversation from earlier still very present in their memories. Hope knows that she won’t be able to avoid her for very long, but she can try. Rose looks happy to do the same, at least.

“Hey,” Ethan pats her arm to get the pureblood’s attention while Maya and Penelope are distracted. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean for my question to come off as an interrogation, I was just kind of shocked. I hope you can understand.” 

“No worries,” Hope says easily, his crooked smile begging to be forgiven. She starts to walk over to the seating area by the fireplace, feeling tired and cold. “Nicot was more angry than me about it, honestly.” 

Rose looks up at her name, and the two share a look that Ethan completely misses.

“So, you really got into a fight with a dementor?” he blurts excitedly, nearly jumping up and down. _That_ catches Maya and Penelope’s concern, and they immediately stop fighting to listen. 

“Oh, no,” Hope shrugs, collapsing on the nearest couch. “I almost did, but the dementor and I decided we were better off as friends. It complimented my hair and then we shook hands and walked away.”

Maya’s mouth drops open, and Ethan’s mouth stutters out nonsense before he collects himself. 

“I _knew_ that patronus crap was just a waste of time,” Maya starts, but her brother interrupts her. 

“Really?” His eyes are wide. 

“No, you idiots,” Hope sighs, rolling her eyes. She snuggles into the side of the couch, closing her eyes. “It nearly killed me.” 

She falls asleep, totally uncaring if Clarke ends up hanging her from the ceiling for it in the morning. 

Luckily, Ethan ends up carrying her to her bed, and she sleeps barely four hours before Maya wakes her up to take a shower and get breakfast. 

Hope stumbles to the great hall with her eyes still half-closed, hiding her head in her arms against the table. Insolent chatter and conversations buzz annoyingly around her, and before long she gives up on trying to go back to sleep. 

When she glances at the Gryffindor table, she sees that Josie either hasn’t woken up yet or she isn’t hungry, since she’s not there. She sighs with disappointment and tucks into her food. 

About ten minutes into a stack of her pumpkin pancakes, Headmaster Dumbledore taps his fork against the side of his goblet to garner all the students’ attention. Hope groans loudly, but she still puts her food down and makes an active attempt to listen. She succeeds just barely. 

“Goodmorning, all,” the old man says, smiling with bits of food in his long beard that Hope can see from the distance. _Disgusting_. “As many of you know, winter break is fast approaching next month. Quite a lot of you will go home for the holidays, and some of you will not. In a valiant effort to provide some fun and excitement as the semester ends, my staff and I have decided to hold our annual winter ball the day before we leave for break.” 

He pauses as students all around begin to whisper eagerly and converse enthusiastically with one another. A fourth-year across from Hope is already talking about how she’ll style her hair. 

“Our annual ball?” Hope says to Penelope, smirking slightly. “Who is he kidding? This is the first year I’ve heard of this.” 

“You know Dumble_bore_,” Penelope smirks with much of the same mirth. “He’s senile and smelly. He probably doesn’t know his head from his ass—you can’t blame the bastard.” 

Dumbledore looks right at them suddenly, like he can hear them, and the two of them start coughing and choking. Maya pats Hope’s back unhelpfully. 

“Quiet, please,” he continues. Everyone quiets again. “Thank you. This ball, we’ve agreed to open up our doors to everyone. Yes, you’ve heard me correctly, _all_ families are invited to join us...” 

Hope freezes with her hand wrapped around her glass of water. No. She does not need to freak out. There is no need for panicking of any kind. Dumbledore did not say that a person’s family _has_ to come, but that they are invited should they wish to.

Yes. It’s all fine. Her family would not be coming to Hogwarts. They would not be meeting her friends, they would not see Josie, they would not figure out that their daughter is a disappointment to them, they would not discover that she no longer believes in their blood purist bigotry. _Yes_. _It’s all fine_. She would go home for Christmas break, put on an act, and then go back to school and resume things as normal. No. Need. To. Panic. 

“...On that note, do not worry about flooding the Owlery and writing to your families,” Dumbledore adds. “We have already sent our invitations out early this morning and...” 

She does not hear the rest of his sentence. 

Hope’s heart stops completely in her chest, her grip around the glass cup becoming dangerously tight. Then, the glass promptly breaks, shattering all over her palm and splintering small pieces into her fingers. A couple of students gasp around her, and Dumbledore stops talking. Slowly, seemingly every student in the great hall turns to look at her. 

Hope clenches her eyes through a pounding headache, not even feeling the pain in her hand, before she feels someone’s own softly grasping it. 

Rose murmurs a healing spell across from her, and the jagged cuts and red lines in her palm begin to seal closed gradually. The girl wipes the spare blood away with a tissue, repairing the glass cup with another quiet incantation. Everyone looks away after that, and Dumbledore resumes speaking. 

“Right, where was I?” He tilts his head. “Oh, yes! You may bring a date, or rather as it happens, your date is your ticket inside the ball this year. You cannot attend the ball _without_ one.” 

Some people begin to mutter at that. Hope frowns, allowing herself to be distracted by his words. No, she won’t think about—

_No_. 

“While this may seem counterproductive,” he says slowly. “There happens to be a good reason. At an attempt to broaden _some_ students’ attitudes towards rivaling houses and to try to eliminate blood purist sentiments, we are not allowing you to bring a date of your own blood status.” 

The entire great hall shushes with deadly speed. Silence falls over them like a sheet of ice, and every student halts in their movements. Slytherin is particularly quiet, as the entire house is made up of purebloods except for one particular muggleborn. To add, most of the muggleborns at this school are in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, which is something else to deal with altogether. 

“That is to say,” Dumbledore explains needlessly, “a pureblood cannot go with a pureblood, a halfblood cannot go with a halfblood, and a muggleborn cannot go with a muggleborn.” 

Hope’s lips part in surprise, and she should be very glad that she’s not holding another glass, because she might have just broken another one after hearing that. 

“If you have any questions, do not be afraid to go to your head of house with them,” the old man says finally. Everyone continues to stare at him with shock, but he doesn’t even look affected by what he’s said. The professors around him all appear the same. “That is all I have for this morning, please enjoy your day.” 

All though his words are a blatant dismissal, every student remains silent. No one goes back to eating or talking, not a single person picks up a utensil or their previous conversations. 

Hope sits in similar surprise, but with an equal dose of fear. Not only will her family be coming to the school, but she’ll also have to bring a muggleborn date. She should be elated, this is her chance to pursue Josie Saltzman after all, but there’s nothing joyful about this situation whatsoever. 

If she brings Josie as her date, then her family might slaughter them both. Maybe—

Hope sighs in relief in the comfort of her head. She just won’t go at all. No big. That way her father won’t be able to touch a single hair on Josie’s head. She can protect her _that way_. Not showing up might be embarrassing and slightly ruin her family’s reputation—her family always attend parties, they’re known for it, after all—but it’ll be better than the other option, all things considered. 

Gradually, about five full minutes later, students begin to recover from their shock, but many still look shaken up. 

“He can’t do this,” Penelope grumbles distantly, her gaze far away. “This is a direct attack against us! My parents would kill me if I tried to date someone that’s not from our house, and every muggleborn or halfblood at this school isn’t in Slytherin.” 

Hope rolls her eyes. At least her parents aren’t so awful that they allow her to date both Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Hope knows for a fact that many of her housemates only date each other on principle. Now, with their families coming, they—no doubt—want to impress their parents the most that they can.   


Hope knows that Maya and Ethan’s parents in particular only permit them to date Slytherins, but the two of them have ignored that for most of their careers at this school. Hope knows things will be different now for them, with their family coming. Thank Merlin Hope’s own is above _that _level of house discrimination, if not anything else. 

“Actually,” Rose states simply, simultaneously interrupting Penelope and getting everyone’s attention around them. She seems so nonchalant, too, picking at her food with a fork. “Josette Saltzman is a muggleborn, and she’s in Slytherin, remember?” 

The entire Slytherin table seems to hear that, and every person above third-year stops talking. The sudden quiet begins to catch the other houses’ attention, and they all glance over at the Slytherin table suspiciously. Hope palms her forehead with her hand. 

The Saltzman twins take that _exact_ moment to walk into the great hall, laughing and giggling about one thing or another. They stop walking and talking as they realize that the entire great hall is quiet, and that the entire Slytherin table is watching the brunette of the sister pair.

Maya stands up first. She screams, “I call her!” at the same time another male seventh-year yells, “Dibs!”

That’s how the impending chaos begins. 


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//Nonconsensual Removal of Clothes—Sexual Harassment

At once, half of the older students stand up from their spots and crowd the oblivious muggleborn, causing her and her sister to jump back in surprise. Elizabeth even pulls out her wand as the Slytherins start to pack the entrance, probably bracing for some kind of attack.

Hope watches with barely-concealed jealousy and a whole lot of shock. The only Slytherins that remain sitting down are Rose, Ethan, and the pureblood herself. Even Penelope, someone who has spent the last two months bullying the muggleborn, gets up. Hope shortly wonders what happened to the girl who _swore_ she would die before spending a single knut on muggle clothes. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, because now every Slytherin and their best mate have decided to become filthy hypocrites. 

In fact, pretty quickly, most of the Slytherin table is deserted, save for everyone below fourth-year. One particularly suave fifth-year conjures a bouquet of flowers out of the tip of his wand, and a seventh-year even hexes his friend for a better spot in line. 

It doesn’t make any sense at all. 

How can they so _easily_ turn their backs on Sebastian and then line up to ask out a muggleborn? Do they not care at all? Has all of Hope’s hiding been in vain? Has it been for _no_ reason? How can they, _how_ can they—

She sits up with fury raging through her veins, like a cold fire, freezing her blood to ice while somehow setting every inch to flames. The fire rages onward into her mind, catching on to every single thought until all she can hear are shrieks and screams, urging her to move and stop all of them before they can even spare a single word to the muggleborn. 

Hope shoves her way through the crowd until she comes to stand in front of it. She grabs the sixth-year blonde trying to talk to Josie by the collar and sends her stumbling back to the group. Her eyes, very quickly, connect to Josie’s, before she turns back to the crowd. 

“_None_ of you can have her,” she snarls, her eyes darkening along with the steel tone of her voice. A sneer pulls at her lips and bares her teeth, and she sends a vicious glare to those who dare to meet her eyes. 

The crowd falls silent like a ripple of water, and it rebounds across every single student in the great hall until even the staff’s table hushes still. In the quietude, Hope can only hear the sound of her heart beating in her ears and her panting. Why is she breathing so hard? Why do her lungs suddenly feel so starved of air? 

“Are you staking your claim, Mikaelson?” Penelope pulls herself to the front of the group, Maya right behind her. Hope shakes her head, her skull hammering against her brain.

Staking her claim? Like Josie Saltzman is property? Hope feels disgusted. 

Yet, the truth is: a part of Hope had been this close to murdering all of them and growling, “_She’s mine_.” 

None of them care about Josie, not like she does. They would only use her as a way to get into the ball, and then ditch her right after. None of them deserve her. Worst of all, Hope doesn’t either, and it’s for this reason that _she_ can’t go to the ball. Josie won’t be safe that way. 

“No.” Hope’s voice does not sound very much like her own, and her tongue feels like acid in her throat, but she manages to say the word. Penelope rolls her eyes. 

“Get out of the way, then,” she tells Hope dismissively, moving to pass the pureblood, who doesn’t let her step even a foot forward, her hand a vice against the girl’s arm. 

“I said,” Hope reiterates, the note in her voice final. Deep down, she knows that Penelope won’t back down, six years of friendship or not. The two of them have always been far too stubborn for their own good, and together, it makes for a deadly combination. “You can’t have her.” 

The harsh bark to her words shocks the other girl just enough that she takes an entire step back, bumping into Maya behind her. She opens and closes her mouth repeatedly, her eyes flying to the muggleborn behind Hope and then back to the pureblood over and over again. Penelope seems to work something out, because then she starts laughing like crazy. 

_Shit_. Hope swallows uselessly as concrete pools into her mouth and sticks itself along her insides. She knows what’s coming, and immediately wants to curse herself. She had been too transparent with her actions, and now Penelope will probably see right through her. 

Yes. The miserable girl will see right through her. She was too obvious, she had snapped too suddenly, with _too_ _much_ fire for the situation at hand. After exploding at all of them in such a manner, she must look far too suspicious, far too guilty. Hope needs to save face, especially with Penelope still cackling in front of her. 

“Oh, _my_,” Penelope breathes, simmering down.Her eyes glance passed Hope once more, before they return to the pureblood. A shiver crawls Hope’s spine and chills every nerves. “Does the Great Evil’s daughter have a little _crush_?” 

It takes a second for the crowd to catch on, but the effect is near instantaneous. A gasp murmurs across the group and travels to each house in the great hall. Some students begin to look between Josie and Hope with their mouths wide open, their jaws to the floor. 

“Josie, what’s she talking about?” Elizabeth asks, something in her voice very scared. Hope is scared, too. She’s so fucking scared, so scared that everyone will find out that she’s a bloodtraitor, that she’s betrayed her family.

Josie once asked her what she’s afraid of, and it’s this—

This, with every single person at the school looking at Hope like they don’t recognize her. This, with her best friends staring at her with expressions she can’t interpret. This, with the image of her father’s murderous rage. This, with her mother’s inevitable disappointment. This, with Josie standing near frozen behind her. This, with Penelope standing near frozen in front of her. 

So, Hope pretends to act surprised. She pretends that she’s just heard the most shocking thing of her life. Like the most vile, disgusting words have just reached her ears.She scrunches her face up with false confusion. In a single moment, Hope makes the worst decision of her life—and she hopes dearly that Josie will understand. 

“Saltzman?” She sticks a hand out to gesture behind her, turning around so briefly that she locks eyes with Josie for a split-second. It’s almost enough for her resolve to crumble. Almost. “What would I want with a fucking _mudblood_?” 

It’s not the first time she’s said the word, but it might as well be with the unfamiliarity it touches her tongue with. After a long time of not using it, the word has only grown sour and dreadful in her head. Out of her mouth, it’s much worse. It bounces off the walls and echoes painfully in her ears, and she almost clamps her hands over them in fear of going deaf. 

_Mudblood_. 

The word travels back down her lips and leaves her with a bitter taste at the back of her throat like acid. It stings between gritted teeth, refusing to be taken back, refusing to be forgotten. The entirety of Hogwarts will most definitely remember for weeks to come. 

A small, quiet sniffling sound floats behind Hope’s ear, and she shifts her body just to catch sight of Josie running off, her sister chasing after her hot on her heels. Hope watches, knowing this time she can’t follow the other girl and fix everything she’s messed up. 

Why did she do that? The pureblood wonders. How could she have hurt Josie _again_? Why can’t she just keep her mouth shut? Why can’t she have just been a little more brave? Hope doesn’t want any of this. She had never asked for any of this. She had never wanted to utter such a nasty word, she had never meant to upset Josie at all. 

Hope lets out a yearning whimper, just an exhale parting two aching lips, before she forces herself to face the crowd again. 

“Just making sure,” Penelope smirks, that same-old, cruel smirk that begs for Hope to wipe it off her face. Of _course_, the girl can still find a way to be a blood purist despite her intention of asking the muggleborn out. Of course. Of _fucking_ course— 

“Twenty points from Slytherin!” Professor McGonagall appears in the crowd, picking up her robes as she separates the students with her mere presence. Hope hadn’t even noticed her coming down from the staff’s table. It reminds Hope that everyone heard her, that everyone had been listening. “Hogwarts does not, and will never, tolerate that kind of vulgar language.” 

She pins Hope with a sharp gaze, who only then remembers that McGonagall is a muggleborn herself. The older woman turns to the group after a moment of staring the pureblood down. Hope swallows the misery confined to the strings of her vocal cords.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you,” McGonagall says sternly, “that such despicable slurs _will_ be punished accordingly. I want everyone to go back to their rooms straightaway. Breakfast is over.” 

With a swoosh of her hand, every single plate in the great hall vanishes. A boy at the Hufflepuff table squeals as a piece of fruit disappears from his grasp, and Hope stares intently at the space where her stack of pancakes used to be.

If only she could go back to a couple of minutes ago, where everything had been fine, where she hadn’t ruined the one good thing going for her. 

—

Rose Nicot sits on her bed, a Muggle Studies book open in front of her. She turns the pages absentmindedly, her thoughts far away from what she’s reading. 

She isn’t sure what she had seen during breakfast, or what she _thought_ she had seen. It’s now several hours into the evening, and she still can’t completely process the morning’s events. 

All she’s sure of, is that something is very, very wrong with her friend Hope Mikaelson. Rose can’t remember the last time she had heard Hope say _that_ derogatory term for a muggleborn, but now she can’t quite forget it. 

Although Hope had appeared as though she hadn’t cared when she said it, Rose knows her better. She had seen the flicker of regret as the pureblood watched Josette Saltzman run away, and sure, Hope hadn’t been facing Rose, but it had been too transparent in the rigid set to her spine, too telling in her hardened shoulders. 

What does it mean? 

She can only hope that it means—

No. She mustn’t allow herself to hope. Not for Josette Saltzman, and certainly not for _herself_. 

The door of her room flings itself open and Rose startles, shutting her book closed quickly and pulling her bed covers up to her neck in an attempt to hide it. She probably looks much too guilty, and the person across from her is definitely not stupid. 

Penelope raises her eyebrows at her, a lewd smirk stretching along her lips. “Oh, did I interrupt you?” 

Rose pinks, realizing the position she’s in. Does Penelope think she was..._touching_ herself? “Ew, Pen. Shut up.” 

“No, carry on,” Penelope tells her, sitting down on her own bed. “Can I watch, though?” 

Rose almost hits her with her book, but for obvious reasons, she can’t do that. “You’re disgusting.” 

Penelope only laughs, laying down from her previous sitting position and putting her hands underneath her head leisurely. “I’m hilarious.” 

“You’re _disgusting_,” Rose repeats. 

“Fine,” Penelope chuckles out, yawning. Her eyes shut once she becomes relaxed. “Have you been in here all night?” 

“No, just the past hour or so,” Rose says, carefully sitting up and placing the Muggle Studies book underneath her pillow. It’s not like Penelope can see her, with her eyes closed. “Have you seen Hope? I’ve got to talk to her.” 

“_Ooh_,” Penelope coos, her eyes snapping open. “Finally going to confess your undying love for her?” 

Rose blushes, wishing her face could stop betraying her for once in her life. “For the last time, I’m not in love with her.” 

“Right,” Penelope agrees sarcastically. “And I’m a die-hard Gryffindor!” 

Rose rolls her eyes. “Have you seen her or not?” 

“I think she mentioned something about going to the Astronomy Tower.” Penelope shrugs the best she can while laying down. Rose stands up immediately, adjusting her pillows with the pretense of organizing her bed. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, already half-out the door. 

“Good luck!” Penelope calls after her, and Rose sighs. She does _not_ fancy Hope. Why does everyone think that? Annoyingly enough, even Ethan is starting to believe it, which is the exact _opposite_ of what she wants. 

Speaking of Ethan...

She finds him by the fireplace, a plate of food in his hand. He lights up when he sees her, smiling in that adorable way she can’t help but smile back at. Has he been..._waiting_...all this time, for _her_? 

“Hey, R,” he says softly, offering the plate nervously. “I didn’t see you at dinner, so I saved you your favorite.” 

Her eyes sparkle as they fall upon the slice of apple pie, and her face swiftly becomes the color of the honey crisp apples used in it. “Thank you. You’re so sweet.” 

“I, uh, haha,” he stammers over his words, holding it out to her with a small hint of reluctance. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around his own on the plate. 

“I need to talk to Hope really quick” she tells him, squeezing his fingers apologetically. “When I get back, maybe we can split it?” 

He nods with gentle understanding, and Rose hesitates before leaning up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek sweetly. They both separate with small grins on their faces, and Rose forces herself not to glance back at him for one last look as she exits the common room. 

When she finally comes near the Astronomy Tower, she instantly hears the quiet sounds of someone trying _very_ hard not to cry, or at least trying very hard not to let anyone _hear_ it. Rose climbs up the stairs slowly, not wanting to scare the other girl away. 

“Hope?” 

The Mikaelson heir jumps slightly at her name, turning around so fast that Rose briefly thinks she might fall off the tower. She’s too close to the edge, even dangling her feet off of it. Rose’s curious expression softens into one of sadness as she sees eyes rimmed with red and wet, pale cheeks. 

“Come to see the show?” Hope jokes, laughing quite miserably through tears. She wipes angrily at them, causing Rose to knit her eyebrows together. She approaching the other girl  in a careful manner. “The best part is coming.” 

“And what would that be?” she asks, lowering herself to the floor, sidling up beside the pureblood. Rose tries to make herself appear as nonthreatening as possible as she sits down. Hope only continues to laugh, like she’s gone completely mad in the span of a couple of hours. 

“When the pathetic sixteen-year-old starts crying like a newborn child,” she says, her voice breaking in the middle. Rose can barely hear her next words over the pouring rain outside. “Over a...” 

Rose purses her lips when Hope only trails off, choosing not to complete her sentence. 

“Over a...?” she implores, grabbing her friend’s hand loosely. Hope’s eyes snap up to hers at once, before she looks away and says nothing. Somehow, Rose thinks she knows the answer. 

She’s not the most observant person, but Rose Nicot prides herself on being able to read her friends, at the very least. Hope Mikaelson has always been a mystery, someone closed-off and leaning towards isolation, but Rose likes to think that she can penetrate the pureblood’s seemingly hard exterior at times. 

She can tell something is bothering her, and not just from the obvious tears running down the girl’s face. Yes. Rose is certain now. She is completely sure that it’s a girl eating her friend from the inside out. And she knows exactly who that girl is. She should have noticed quicker, perhaps—not that any of their other friends had even tried to bother.

“It’s okay, you know,” Rose says, very slowly as to catch the other girl’s attention. Hope’s shoulders shake minutely, her head turned away, staring off into the rain. “If she makes you happy...” 

Hope twists her body so suddenly that Rose fears she might get whiplash, and her eyes are bloodshot but hard steel when they meet Rose’s. She notices that the pureblood’s hand is trembling in her own. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hope bites out, her lips nearly blue. Rose has the distant thought that she looks very cold. How long has she been out here? 

“There’s nothing wrong—“ Rose tries, attempting to convey that they don’t need to talk about it, but that Hope needs to know that it’s _okay_. 

“Nicot,” Hope interrupts, looking at her with great puzzlement. Rose narrows her eyes. “I haven’t a clue what you mean. Seriously.” 

“Alright,” Rose mutters, rubbing her thumb against Hope’s knuckles gently. Her voice turns sickly sweet. “You’ve been a ghost all day. Let me catch you up on what you’ve missed. _Hmm_...” 

“Slytherin has gone absolutely mental. Someone started a rumor that Josette Saltzman was hiding away in the Gryffindor tower,” she says, much like narrating a story. She watches Hope for any kind of reaction at all. “For this reason, half of our house has been waiting outside their common room for the past couple of hours or so. As I’ve heard, she has yet to make an appearance—“ 

“Why are you telling me this?” Hope cuts her off, blinking wetly. A frown snaps at the corner of her mouth for just a second, but the tightness remains there for several long moments. Rose recognizes the small flicker of emotion as jealousy. 

She just stands and unlaces her fingers from Hope’s, fixing her with a disappointed look. Ethan is waiting for her. She mustn’t keep him so. 

“You should ask her to the ball,” she tells the pureblood, very simply. “Before someone else does.” 

—

Hope throws herself onto her bed, tears already running down her face for the second time that evening. She murmurs a silencing charm on her part of the room so her dorm mates can’t hear her—at least, it’s past midnight and they’re all asleep. In her horrid state, the charm won’t last long, but she doesn’t need long. 

She just needs to feel _something_. She needs to _hurt_, she needs to feel regret biting into her bones and she needs to feel the ache in her chest. A couple of hours of crying in the Astronomy Tower had not been enough. It hadn’t been nearly enough pain for her. 

To make everything worse, now Rose knows all about her little dilemma. She knows all about her sinful feelings, and Hope hadn’t even _told_ her! How is that? How can she just tell the pureblood that it’s okay? It’s _not_ okay. _Nothing_ is okay. She wants to scream! She wants to claw her own eyes out! She wants to pull out her own teeth one by one, she wants to rip her tongue out so she won’t ever talk again! 

And, despite all her conflicting thoughts, her housemates are all still attacking Josie like she’s a piece of meat. For some reason, they were all _very_ quick to turn on her once believing Hope to be a bloodtraitor—so quick to turn on Sebastian weeks before, for Merlin’s sake—yet, they’re _still_ chasing after the muggleborn! 

And Josie might just say yes to one of them. She might agree to _actually_ go to the ball with one of them, and she would be absolutely free to do so. She has nothing holding her back, now that Hope has messed everything up. She can allow _any_ pureblood to take her, and it won’t _ever_ be _Hope_. This thought scares her much more than anything she would have thought possible. Over the last couple of hours, she had come to learn that her blood status fears were absolutely irrelevant, and Josie mattered more than all of them.   
  


And now, she had lost her. 

No.

_No_. 

If Hope is going to spend her entire night thinking about the muggleborn getting seduced by all of Slytherin, she’s going to do it completely drunk. 

She quickly swings out of her bed and begins searching around in her trunk for something. 

Finally, after about a solid minute, she finds what she’s looking for—a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey she keeps hidden in her trunk. Passed that bottle are several more under a few piles of robes. She snaps the cap off the first one and chugs it down, basking in the warmth of fire in her stomach and the sting of whiskey down her throat. 

Sometime later, following two empty bottles on the ground and another half-empty one on her bedside table, the Mikaelson heir passes out. Not many minutes after, she wakes up to the sound of her four-poster bed’s curtains opening.

Previously, Hope was not very afraid of the prank war. In all reality, she should have been. She should have known something big was coming, considering that Gryffindor had not yet retaliated. 

The pureblood mumbles and turns in her sleep, tugging the sheets higher up against her shoulders. She feels terribly nauseous, and she keeps her eyes and mouth closed in fear of throwing everything in her stomach up. Hope shivers with the intensity of it, her teeth chattering. 

To add, the room is awfully cold, evident by the frost covering the window near her bed. Hope has no idea how the weather had changed so drastically within a couple of hours, but she lets herself suffer in it. After breakfast, it had started raining hard like never before, and Hope had decided to let herself get soaked to the bone up in the Astronomy Tower. 

She believes that she deserves to be freezing and miserable, especially with the stunt she had just pulled during dinner. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have called Josie that? How could she have fucked up the single thing good in her life, _again_? 

That same rustling sound reaches her ears and she shoves her pillow away with a shudder, sitting up. When she rubs at her eyes, she finds herself regretting drinking so much. Merlin, half of her is still plastered, and when she glances at a clock, she realizes that she hasn’t been asleep for a very long time. Yup, she’s still drunk as hell, and to make it worse, her head is pounding. Had her stupid body really not metabolized the alcohol yet? 

When Hope manages to blink her eyes open, her mouth goes slack. In front of her stands Josie Saltzman, her wand pointed directly at Hope’s chest. The pureblood’s mind swarms, and she coughs slightly as she tries to sit up more.

“Jos—“ she begins to slur, her voice rough from barely half an hour of sleep and the sting of Firewhiskey. Thank Salazar! She can apologize, she can beg for forgiveness the best she can, she can—

Hope then notices that there are about three other wands pointed at her. By the skin of her teeth, she recovers from her slip-up. “S-Saltzman.” 

Her eyes search wildly around the room. The other three wands pointed at her belong to Elizabeth Saltzman, Anna Lowly, and Emma Wilford. Hope recognizes the last one as Maya’s partner in DADA. 

“What the fuck—“

“Silencio,” Elizabeth murmurs, and Hope’s mouth becomes sewn shut. She instantly recognizes this for what it is—an ambush, a kidnapping, a product of the prank war. 

The pureblood’s hand shoots out for her wand underneath her pillow, but it doesn’t reach its mark. Instead, Hope’s arms snap to her sides and her legs collide together with a body-binding curse. She finds that she can’t even lift a single finger, but her eyes work just fine. She looks around the room for help, but of course, all her dorm mates are sound asleep. 

Hope rolls her eyes as the noise of Maya snoring fills the near silent room. Great. She’s getting kidnapped, and in her own bed, no less. They really couldn’t have done this any other night? 

“Hey, do you think we could get Machado, too?” Emma whispers, glancing at the sleeping girl with her curtains wide open and her head stuffed between two pillows. “She’s been really annoying during Defense.” 

Hearing that, Hope tries her best to move her body to warn the other girl, but she stays limp against her own sheets. Josie’s face hovers over her, but the muggleborn won’t even look her in the fucking eye. Hope’s chest becomes suspiciously tight and she forces her eyes to the ceiling. No. It would not do well to start crying again right now. The lump in her throat is only due to her being paralyzed, and she only feels emotional because she’s drunk as hell. The headache hammering behind her eyes is only due to the amount of alcohol she’s consumed. 

“No,” Anna decides. “She’s already seen our faces, that’s enough trouble as is. On her own, she can’t prove we did anything, but with Machado, they’d have a solid case. Besides, Mikaelson stands for all of those snakes. We get her, we get _everyone_.”

_What a clever girl_, Hope thinks. _Does she know that her friend Josie is in Slytherin as well? _

“Let’s hurry. The boys are waiting for us outside, and we don’t want to wake anyone else up,” Elizabeth tells them, but Hope doesn’t hear a single thing. Her eyes are still trained on Josie, who has yet to even glance at her. It’s only confirmation that Hope has ruined their budding relationship. Can one grieve something that never even begun? Hope thinks that maybe one can, if the feeling in her stomach is anything to go by. Or maybe that’s just the Firewhiskey.   


With a wave of Elizabeth’s hand, Hope begins to levitate from her bed. Her wandless magic seems to be shaky, or perhaps the Gryffindor just doesn’t mind to be careful with her, and knocks Hope’s neck into the headboard. Her hand collides with the Firewhiskey bottle on her bedside table and it falls to the floor. 

Anna saves it before it hits the ground. “I knew I smelled Firewhiskey. Even better, she’s drunk!” 

They all start giggling like the school girls they are except for Josie. Hope continues to glare into the side of the brunette’s head almost pleadingly. Josie only stares at the bottle in Anna’s hand with knitted eyebrows and something that looks a lot like concern. 

What are they going to do with her? Are they trying to kill her? Yes. That must be it. They’ve taken her in the middle of the night to slaughter her! 

“Wait.” At last, Josie speaks. Hope’s gaze lessens in its severity as she looks at her. At the same time, her eyes keep fluttering closed. She finds herself having a very hard time keeping them open, and her mind is too groggy to think passed a common stream of: _Josie, Josie, Josie_. Merlin, she really needs to throw up. “Maybe we should just leave and make her think this was all a dream or something. I don’t know if—“ 

Elizabeth interrupts her rather quickly with crossed arms. “Are you seriously having second thoughts? She called you a blood purist slur in front of everyone. Revenge is the next step.” 

“Please,” Anna laughs quietly. “Don’t act like you haven’t planned this prank since last week.” 

“Whatever.” Elizabeth simply shrugs. “Let’s just get out of here.” 

The next thing the pureblood knows, a black sack is thrown over her head and she loses her vision. Her body begins to float in the air once again and panic shoots down her limbs like ice. 

“Is that really necessary?” she hears Josie ask. “She already knows who we are.” 

“No, it’s not,” Elizabeth says, sounding awfully happy. “I just want to make her nervous.” 

They know that she can hear them, _right_? 

“What took so long?” a deep voice says after a minute—the pureblood counts in her head—of Hope feeling weightless. Hope thinks it might be Rafael Waithe, but she’s not completely sure. All she has to go on is a couple of words he said in detention and a scoff he had directed at her when she sat with Josie at the Gryffindor table. 

“Nothing. Do you guys have all the stuff?” Elizabeth asks, sounding almost vexed. Hope wonders why. 

“Yes!” another boyish voice answers excitedly, which the pureblood recognizes immediately as Milton Greasley. “We even brought the—“ 

“Shhh!” Anna hisses. “She can hear us. We want to keep the suspense.” 

Hope tries to talk before remembering that she’s paralyzed and that there’s an actual sack over her head. She continues to levitate in the air for a long enough time that she stops counting, trying to open her mouth every now and then to see if her body has returned to her. 

No one talks for a while, which makes Hope think that they’re probably in the hallways or somewhere where any amount of noise can get them into trouble. The pureblood quickly becomes exhausted from trying to remain focused, her head spinning too much and a terrible pressure making itself known behind her eyes that she can’t ignore. 

She doesn’t know exactly when, but she falls asleep in the darkness, and when she wakes up, there is no longer a sack over her head. Her cheek stings painfully, though, so she guesses that someone probably used physical force to wake her up.

She grunts and brings a hand up to her face, amazed that her limbs seem to be in control once again. She opens her mouth to yell for help but a hand clamps over it. 

“Scream and we’ll curse your sorry ass again,” Elizabeth tells her, and Hope nods like she agrees before biting down on her hand with as much strength as she can, throwing her body forward violently. She doesn’t go anywhere, however; her hands are binded behind her back with invisible magical restraints. 

Elizabeth releases her hand with a groan and backs up. Hope braces herself to speak, “HELP—“ 

Soft, warm fingers clamp around her lips once again, except they belong to the other sister of the twin pair this time. Hope makes a sound at the back of her throat—she’s that touch-starved for the brunette—and Hope absolutely hates it. 

The pureblood glares up at the muggleborn, who most likely knows that Hope won’t bite her or try to hurt her like she had done to Elizabeth. She frowns as Josie leans forward, her lips finding Hope’s ear and whispering, “I’m sorry.” 

The soft puff of air against the shell of her ear sends a shock down Hope’s spine, and she springs up slightly, tugging at the magical binds. 

Then Josie backs away, her hand still tightly wound against Hope’s mouth. No one notices a thing, mostly due to Elizabeth distracting everyone by acting like she’s in the worst pain of her life. Hope rolls her eyes. She hadn’t even bitten her _that_ hard. 

“Are you going to talk?” Josie raises her voice so the others in the room can hear her. It’s all an act. It’s an act when the muggleborn injects a threatening tone to her words, and it’s an act when Hope shakes her head. 

Josie releases her and steps back again, allowing Hope to look around. They’re in the great hall, right at the entrance, to be exact. The pureblood discovers that she is surrounded by Josie, Elizabeth, Anna, Emma, Milton, Rafael, and a Ravenclaw Hope thinks is named Kaleb. Great. Seven to one. 

She tugs at her restraints needlessly, glancing behind her to see what’s holding her up—a broomstick. A very _familiar_ broomstick. 

She nearly screams. Why had they kidnapped her _broom_? Was she not enough? 

She struggles forward, trying to twist her body to check her broom for any marks or injuries. She doesn’t find any, and almost sighs in relief. She loves her broom more than her own life, if she’s being honest. 

“Okay, boys, turn around,” Elizabeth makes a spinning gesture with her finger as the boys hand over a couple of bags of supplies. Hope tilts her head at an attempt to look at the contents of the bags, and then furrows her eyebrows in confusion. 

Why do the boys need to turn around? 

Then, Elizabeth marches right up to her and determinedly reaches for the button on the pureblood’s pants. Hope swallows thickly. Are they going to undress her? 

“Wow, Saltzman,” Hope says as calmly as she can, but her voice comes out higher than she wants it to. She resists the urge to squirm away, trying to appear cool and collected. She succeeds somewhat. “I didn’t know you swung that way.” 

“_Yuck_,” Elizabeth gags, but her fingers don’t still. It seems that the thought has diverted her attention enough that she doesn’t curse Hope again for talking. “As if I would ever want to sleep with _you_.” 

“Yet, you slept with Pyre. Not so different, isn’t it—“ Hope flares her nose, pushing her hips back as Elizabeth angrily undos the last button. Fuck. Fuck. 

In one swift movement, the blonde pulls her pants down to her knees. Hope’s breath catches as the cold hits her naked legs. 

“Hmm,” the Gryffindor hums with no small amount of amusement, with no small amount of snark. It seems that Hope hit a nerve with that Sebastian comment. “Slytherin until the end, huh?” 

The pureblood probably would have found it much funnier if her underwear wasn’t on show. She probably would have found it much funnier if she hadn’t chosen to wear green boy shorts with a silver band. Hope curses herself. 

She knew that she should have worn something a bit...sexier, but she had been too tired to search through her drawers for anything better. Whatever. It’s not the most embarrassing pair of underwear she could have worn.

“You’re going to strip me and leave me here naked?” Hope laughs sarcastically as Elizabeth transfigures the point of her wand into a sharp blade and cuts down the middle of her shirt. In all actuality, the thought of hanging from her broom until the early hours of the morning terrifies her. She can’t even meet Josie’s eyes as the girl continues to stare at her legs. “So funny.” 

“Leave you naked?” Elisabeth sounds incredibly disgusted once again, even going so far as to make another gagging noise. “I would _never_ subject anyone to seeing that.” 

Behind her, Josie blushes bright red, turning her head away. Next to _her_, Anna watches the muggleborn strangely. 

Hope only sneers. Lots of people want to see her naked. How dare she even suggest that! Yet, Hope acknowledges that she would find the blonde’s words almost _funny_ if one threw out the context of the situation. 

“You know, Saltzman,” she says, because she wants to irritate the other girl more. She smiles kindly. Falsely. “In another life, we probably could have been friends.” 

“Rot in hell.” 

“I don’t even know what that is.” 

Elizabeth ignores that and proceeds to dress Hope up in the most ridiculous outfit her eyes have ever born witness to:

A rainbow shirt cropped right below her chest with the word “Unicorn” splattered on it, the short length allowing her toned stomach to be on full display. 

A pair of red and gold velvet short-shorts with “Gryffindor Slut” spelled in glitter font right across her crotch, the shorts so tiny that they barely reach her ass. 

Two red, stiletto high heels strapped onto her feet that are nearly six inches in length, coupled with a pair of white stockings.

To summarize, Hope Mikaelson looks like a fucking idiot. Anna and Emma even tie her hair up into two high pigtails, so not only does she look like an idiot, but she also looks like a small child. 

The boys turn around once the girls are done, immediately sniggering and laughing like crazy. Milton throws himself on the ground and even begins to _roll_ around. The only one that hasn’t laughed yet is Josie, who seems to force a small chuckle out when her sister sends her a pointed look. 

They all step back some to examine their work, to which Elizabeth suddenly remembers something.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She digs into her pocket, pulling out a red-and-gold striped tie. She wraps and ties it around Hope’s hair before patting her twice roughly on the forehead—correction: _slapping_ her twice roughly on the forehead. Hope growls at her, struggling to move. 

“See you in the morning, Mikaelson,” she waves, beginning to walk away at last. Her friends follow her, their laughter boisterous and annoying. It appears that they no longer care about catching a teacher’s attention. 

Hope opens her mouth to scream for help for maybe the _twentieth_ time that night, when she finds her lips sewn together and her entire body becomes slumped forward, paralyzed once more. This time—at this angle—she can’t lift her head up to see who casted the silencing charm and body-binding spell on her, but she’s pretty sure it was Josie. 

The thought hurts her more than it should. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, thank you for all the comments, i will be replying to them shortly :) the next chapter should be out tomorrow night, i had to split that one and this one in two since u guys probably don’t want to read a 12k word chapter haha


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to thank the person that left the comment about sexual harassment/nonconsensual removal of clothes with the whole prank. i admit that i actually did not even think about that when writing the chapter, and i sincerely apologize if that was triggering for anyone (i have gone back and left a warning/tag), for that part i was honestly trying to make a connection with the hp universe of snape calling lily a mudblood and then the marauders pantsing and bullying him for it. my actions were beyond ignorant and i am very sorry

Hope remains frozen the entire night, only passing out in exhaustion during the early hours of the morning. Several times over, she tries to remind herself that this isn’t personal, that it’s just a necessary part of the prank war, that she’s done _worse_ than this before, but Josie’s involvement in what happened still causes her to ache in a way that claws at her insides and makes any sleep she gets restless and futile. 

She dreams of two words whispered apologetically in her ear, a hand clamped over her mouth, a wand pointed at her chest, an empty bottle of Firewhiskey—

Hope finally wakes up with a pounding headache, her mouth dry and the back of her throat terribly sore. Someone is shaking her, but she’s too dizzy to even let that small detail register in her mind. 

“Come on, Hope,” the boy urges, and Hope groggily opens her eyes to catch a head of black locks. “Finite Incantatem.” 

Hope drops to the floor as the magical restraints binding her to the broom loosen and then disappear completely. She pulls at the tie dangling from her head and runs a frantic hand through her hair to dislodge the pigtails. 

“Kirby?” she rasps out, coughing slightly. It’s pretty dark in the great hall, but she’s pretty sure the boy is Landon Kirby, which is super weird, if she can summon the energy to think about it. 

“Here,” Landon says, conjuring a goblet with his wand. Hope is slightly shocked, since she had previously thought that he was denser than a bag of rocks and couldn’t perform spells past a first-year’s level of knowledge. “Aguamenti.” 

He fills the goblet with water before passing it to Hope, who gulps it down so quickly that it dribbles down her chin. She chokes on the last sip, her throat closing up uncomfortably. She can barely inhale right. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Landon breathes, looking her up and down in a way that isn’t sexual or crude, but horrified instead. “Did they...?” 

Hope kicks off her heels, blinking. She’s too astonished that he’s even helping her to be rude or hostile. “What?” 

Landon just stares at her, his green eyes wide. The pureblood understands after a long moment of dreadful silence. 

“Oh, no,” she says offhandedly. “They didn’t. What time is it?” 

“Four o’clock,” he tells her, slightly breathless. He starts to dig through the bag on his shoulder Hope hadn’t noticed before, pulling out a pair of yellow and white checkered pajama pants and a grey hoodie. Hope’s eyes shine with excitement. She _loves_ hoodies. “This is for you. I’m sorry, Hope, I wish I could have been here sooner.” 

Hope takes that moment to examine him, to _really_ look at him. Although his eyes are wide and frantic, there’s something tranquil and easygoing about him, something light in his smile, something in the way he calls her by her first name even though they don’t talk. 

It all gives her pause as Landon hands over the pajamas and turns around for her to change. Her voice might be too rough when she asks, “Why _are_ you here?” 

Landon’s own voice becomes faint as she tugs on the hoodie over her unicorn shirt. She doesn’t know why he’s looking away, since she isn’t really changing. Hope immediately feels much warmer with the hoodie on. To be fair, she’s been freezing out here for quite a while. Hope then peels off the stockings and attempts to lift her foot into a pant leg.   


“Rafael told me about what they were going to do, he actually wanted me to join, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t right, house rivalry or not. Josie told me where you’d be. She said, she said—nevermind. You have _every_ right to tell a professor, Hope. You should know that.” 

_Josie_? Hope almost doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence, every thought focused on the mere mention of the girl. Did Josie tell Landon to help her? Did Josie...?

The struggle of putting clothes on—what should be an easy task—makes Hope’s head hurt. She bends over and puts her hands on her knees, which only serves to make the headache worse. 

“I have no right,” she says, clenching her eyes shut to quell the pain. Merlin, she can honestly say that this feels like the _worst_ headache in her life. The ache behind her eyes is enough to distract her from the fact that Landon is a halfblood, at least. “It’s a prank war. You know the rules. Besides, I’ve done worse than this before. I, uh, I’ve gotten worse than this before.” 

She cuts herself off before she can say anything more about _that_ particular topic, connecting his eyes with her own. Her tone is joking in nature when she asks, “Seriously, is this your first year at Hogwarts or something?” 

Landon laughs almost nervously. “Sorry, Hufflepuff doesn’t get involved in these kinds of things on principle. I don’t really know a lot about it.” 

“Oh,” Hope chuckles, not unkindly, bringing her broom down from the air. “That makes sense, but...” 

She trails off, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent a question from escaping. It does anyway. “Isn’t your house supposed to be loyal?” 

And that _is_ the question, isn’t it? Surely, this has to be some kind of betrayal to his friends. Landon _has_ to be going against everything he knows by helping her. He already ruined the fun of the prank, and now no one would ever see her. She would never have the chance to be humiliated. 

“And good,” Landon adds, shaking his head, the set of his jaw sharp.

“_Good_,” he repeats. “Everyone always forgets about that part.” 

Hope nods thoughtfully, and then:

“Are you okay?” Landon asks seriously, very sincerely, and it should endear Hope. His concern should make her blush, it should quicken the beat of her heart, it should make her head swarm, but she feels none of that. 

“Yes.” She sighs quietly. “Past years have been much worse, if I’m being honest. Your friends were very generous, by comparison.” 

Landon scoffs. “Really?” 

“Really,” Hope smirks slightly, remembering it. “Last March, Alyssa Chang hung me from a tree in the Forbidden forest with two Ravenclaw scarfs.” 

Landon doesn’t laugh, even though the image amuses Hope greatly. It had been _quite_ a clever prank, she thinks. She had also been terrified for her life at the time. 

“I don’t understand.” He shakes his head again, like he’s deeply confused or contemplating something. Hope wonders if he even really knows his friends at all. She watches as the boy eyes the spot she had been frozen to just minutes ago. “How could they just leave you here like that?” 

Hope frowns. Maybe the boy _is_ stupid. 

“I’m the monster in their story,” Hope says simply. Is it so hard to understand? “How could they not?” 

—

Hope slips into her bed a couple of minutes after Landon had so _chivalrously_ walked her to the Slytherin common room, terribly exhausted. She places a protective ward on her bed just in case—she doesn’t want a repeat of a couple of hours ago, after all—and allows her head to softly hit her pillow. The pureblood then pauses beneath her sheets as she feels something round dig into her back. 

She twists her body and rolls to the side, reaching underneath her back to pull out a potion bottle filled with a dark, purple liquid. There’s a tag tied delicately around the wooden stopper, and Hope has to squint to read it in the dark:

_ ** For your hangover.  ** _

_ ** -JS ** _

Hope sucks in a ragged breath, collapsing back onto the bed as the strength to hold herself up leaves her. Her eyes snap away, fogged over with desire and seeing much more than the curtains and the ceiling. She can’t deny the rush of emotion those three words had given her, nor the pounding in her chest jump-started by those familiar initials. 

She resolves to take the potion in the morning when it’ll have the greatest effect, and sets it aside, thumbing the tag before untying it and holding it in her palm. She clenches her fingers around the words, wondering if Josie _truly_ hadn’t wanted to go through with the prank, wondering if Hope had _truly_ ruined their relationship earlier, wondering if this little act of kindness _truly_ meant anything at all...

Because, while she can’t deny her feelings for Josie, she also can’t deny that the muggleborn most likely played a large part in the prank. She most likely told her friends the Slytherin common room password, she most likely had let all of them in—and that _hurts_. 

If anyone in Slytherin ever finds out what happened, they might try to hurt Josie for her betrayal. Hope doesn’t know how the brunette’s friends can’t see that, but the pureblood understands the consequences very much. No. No one will _ever_ know what happened tonight. Josie won’t come to any harm because of it. Hope won’t let that happen. 

—

She takes the hangover potion in the morning, feeling near-instant relief. Moisture returns to her mouth and the throbbing behind her eyes steadily fades away. She sighs quite dramatically in relief, happy that she’s not in pain but unhappy that she still feels tired. She must have only gotten half an hour of sleep, and it’s not like she got much sleep the night before either. 

She had spent much of morning listening to _every_ sound, every noise, every creak of faulty floorboards, every pitter-patter of the rain against her window to make sure she wouldn’t be caught unawares again. 

Hope finally gets up at a little after six, moving towards the bathroom like a zombie. She takes a short shower and allows her hair to dry out on its own instead of using a spell. By the time she’s changed into her uniform, her dorm mates are just beginning to wake up. 

“Did you sleep well?” Maya asks through a yawn, her shirt riding up as she stretches her hands above her head. 

“Very,” Hope answers easily enough, turning her back so the girl can’t see her face. She can’t risk giving anything away. 

Once Maya is done changing, they walk together to the great hall for breakfast. They arrive a little late because the Machado sibling took so long getting ready, which Hope teases her for the entire way there in an attempt to distract herself from the dread working its way through her body. 

For some weird reason—that isn’t very weird at all—she feels slightly nervous. A part of Hope never wants to see Josie Saltzman ever again, but a larger part only wants to see _her_, and no one _else_. It’s a weird feeling, one that tugs at her head and her heart in a vicious battle. In the end, her head wins and she avoids looking at the Gryffindor table as Maya and her sit down. 

Unbeknownst to her, Elizabeth Saltzman is currently clenching her fists around a knife and a fork at the Gryffindor table, many of her friends wearing similar expressions of anger. Josie’s shoulders noticeably relax at the sight of the pureblood, and she breathes a sigh of relief that causes her sister to become suspicious. The two start heatedly arguing. 

Back at the Slytherin table, Hope makes herself comfortable between Maya and Rose, grabbing for a piece of toast. She allows herself to be consumed by her worrisome thoughts as her friends begin conversing. 

“Yeah, Hope?” someone says a few moments later. 

Hope looks up at the sound of Ethan trying to talk to her. The pureblood continues to cut her piece of toast, trying to act nonchalant. 

“Mhmm?” 

“Do you think it’s weird that Gryffindor hasn’t retaliated yet? For the prank war?” he asks around a mouthful of food. Hope nods as casually as she can. 

“Maybe,” she hums, resuming her previous activity of cutting her toast. Yes, Hope Mikaelson knows nothing about Gryffindor pranking them back. To her knowledge, they haven’t tried anything since last week. Nothing at all. She’ll keep this secret until it kills her. Her short moment of embarrassment will be nothing compared to Josie getting hurt just because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Hope?” 

“_What_?” Hope growls with annoyance, setting down her toast.

“Why are you cutting your toast with a spoon?” Hope’s gaze shifts to her plate, where a piece of bread and a spoon lie. She blinks, clearing her throat. 

“Just wanted to see if I could do it,” she says, very convincingly, and Ethan raises his eyebrows before going back to eating. 

Hope rolls her eyes. 

Thank Merlin his large appetite always seemed to outweigh his curiosity. 

—

During Potions, it seems that not a single Slytherin has forgotten about the ball like Hope had wished for all morning. Although her house had the control _not_ to crowd Josie at the Gryffindor table during breakfast, it’s an entirely different story in Slughorn’s class. 

They all linger by Hope and Josie’s desk, flirting with the muggleborn and taking turns introducing themselves. 

To add, none of them run away when Hope glares at them, which only causes her to be more angry. The Slytherins only leave when Slughorn makes them go back to their seats so he can start the lesson. 

“Yes, thank you,” Slughorn claps his hands together, staring at all the Slytherins pointedly as they sit back down. “Thank you. Alright, this morning should be fairly simple. You all will be brewing Pepper-Up potions for Madame Pomfrey. As of recently, her supply has been depleted by unwanted visitors.”

He looks at Hope when he says it, and she scowls at him, not caring that it might come off as disrespectful. 

“Her words not mine,” the man chuckles anxiously at the pureblood’s look. “Get to it, please.” 

The room returns to its previous state of restless chatter and whispers, but Hope and Josie don’t talk. Last night hangs between them thickly, enough to condense the air around them and thoroughly suffocate Hope. 

The fumes from the potion in their cauldron aren’t helping much either, so the pureblood almost convinces herself that she’s actually hallucinating things when Josie speaks up about half-way through the period. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks almost offhandedly, cutting ingredients and not even looking at Hope when she whispers it. 

Hope whips her head up at the other girl, confusion dancing across her irises. She opens her mouth, but gets cut short. 

“Mister Blake, please find your seat. I allow for no messing around of any kind in my classroom,” Slughorn announces, and Hope only then notices the boy standing by their desk, his eyes set on Josie. She observes that he had _not_ been one of the boys to introduce himself at the start of the period. 

‘Mister Blake’ doesn’t even turn around to face Slughorn when he answers, “I finished my Pepper-Up potion already, sir.” 

Hope knows he’s lying but the Potions professor seems to accept that, grumbling underneath his breath. 

“Hey, Josette, right?” Blake says, stretching his lips in what he probably thinks is a charming smile. Hope glares daggers at him, trying to concentrate on stirring their own potion counterclockwise, which is very hard to do with the boy trying to get into Josie’s good graces right next to her. 

“No, my name is Lizzie,” Josie corrects. Hope’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and she slowly shifts her head to give the muggleborn an odd look. 

“Oh.” The boy steps back. He swallows loudly, his eyes terrified. Hope attempts to not smirk the best she can. “I’m afraid I’ve made a grave mistake. Excuse me.” 

He scurries back to his seat with his tail tucked between his legs, and Josie starts giggling behind her hand. Hope narrows her eyes but chooses not to say anything. 

So what, if her tongue screams for want of speech? So what, if her teeth ache to separate for words? So what, if her mouth tremors to fill the space between them with sound? 

It ultimately doesn’t matter. If Josie won’t talk about last night, Hope certainly won’t, and she definitely will not apologize for calling her a mudblood. 

—

Excruciatingly enough, those bastardly Slytherins continue to approach Josie in Transfiguration, too. Under McGonagall’s sharp eye, they don’t have many opportunities to flirt their way into getting Josie as a date to the ball, but some still try. 

Hope watches as Peyton Earnings approaches their table towards the end of the lesson. Hope cringes, recognizing him as the one Penelope had mentioned back when she was injured in the hospital wing. 

“Hi, Josie,” he says, politely enough. He bows a little in greeting—which causes Hope to wrinkle her nose in distaste—retrieving a green rose from behind his back. “I was just wondering if you could give me the pleasure of being my date to the winter ball?” 

He offers the rose, a crooked smile on his face one could consider likable. Hope arches an eyebrow, _surprised_ that the Slytherin had asked so suddenly. Most of the boys had at least _tried_ to introduce themselves first. 

Josie takes it and laughs, a red blush adorning her cheeks that has Hope turning away with nail-gripping, fist-clenching jealousy. She finds that she can’t bear to see the girl answer, but she hears it all anyways. 

“Thank you,” Josie says, almost shyly. Her voice takes on a cheery note that grates on Hope’s nerves. “I’ll think about it!” 

The boy smirks and saunters off cockily, even though Josie hadn’t even agreed. Hope frowns and shakes her head to dispel her jealous thoughts. She doesn’t understand how she can feel this way after Josie had treated her so awfully during the night. How can she forgive her so easily? 

“Allow me to get rid of that for you,” Hope grits her teeth together, waving her wand to turn the rose to ashes. She pauses as Josie stops her. 

“No.” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek, her entire body burning. 

“Fine,” she says, standing up. The class will end in a couple of minutes later anyways. McGonagall probably won’t mind if she just ditches now. “You should wash your hands, then. He likes to pleasure himself, if you know what I mean.” 

She leaves Josie with that, pretending she can’t hear the small squeak the muggleborn lets out or the soft thud of the rose falling to the floor. 

McGonagall tries to call her back as she walks out, but she pretends she can’t hear that, either.

—

Hope ditches all of her other classes except for Herbology. It’s one of the only classes she enjoys, but she regrets showing up pretty quickly when Landon Kirby keeps turning around in his seat to make eye-contact with her.

She hadn’t really noticed him in the class before, but now it’s more apparent than ever, with his puppy-dog eyes staring into her head every second of the class period. She’s grateful that he helped her last night, of course, but that doesn’t mean that their best friends. The fact that she knows he’s in love with her doesn’t help either.

Worse, Elizabeth Saltzman is sending the pureblood her own looks—Hope had forgotten she was in this class as well—except her looks consist of glowering, narrowed eyes and deep, nasty frowns. 

By the time Hope makes it back to the Slytherin common room, she is utterly, _utterly_ spent. She thinks she might fall asleep if shecloses her eyes for longer than a second at a time, which makes even blinking almost impossible. 

All the same, Hope buzzes with restlessness. She dreads seeing Josie again in detention, dreads the unpredictability of it all, dreads how she won’t know what will happen.   


As she works to complete homework, the hours pass too slowly and too quickly all at once. In the end, she doesn’t have to wait very long for her detention to come around. 

With five minutes until eight o’clock, Hope can’t seem to force herself off the couch in the common room. She wants to remain unchanging here forever, because she knows that once Josie and her are alone, nothing good can come out of it.

On this couch, everything is fine. Josie doesn’t hate her on this couch. On this couch, Josie had kissed her forehead and had covered her with a blanket when she thought the pureblood had been sleeping. This couch is safe. Detention is not. 

“Aren’t you going to be late for detention?” 

Of course, all good things must come to an end. Hope nods slowly at Rose, trying to muster the courage to stand up and leave. 

“Thank you for the reminder,” she basically bites out, but Rose doesn’t even blink. She stands up with a pout, her eyes tracing the couch longingly. She shakes her head and turns to the Nicot girl. “Can you lead practice tonight for me?” 

Rose grins, pumping her fist in victory despite the fact that Hope can see her. “Tomorrow, too, I guess. Let everyone know that I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” 

“Thanks,” Rose gets up off her own couch, making her way to the dorms. “I won’t let you down!” 

Hope rolls her eyes as she hears Rose yelling from the dorms, most definitely bragging to Penelope and Maya:

“Yes, bitches! I’m Team Captain now, kneel before me. Fifty push-ups or I’m kicking you off the team!” 

The girl’s gloating is a welcome distraction, but, before long, Hope’s thoughts drift back to Josie, as they tend to do. They turn violent and crazy, making her feel too hot despite the cool weather. Her robes start to become sweltering over her form as she moves throughout the hallways towards Snape’s classroom. 

She even starts to sweat, but Hope keeps trying to tell herself that she shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like Josie is going to say anything too terribly awful in a classroom, right? 

No. Hope has said plenty of awful things to Josie in a classroom before. It’s only fair that the muggleborn says something equally horrible to her in return. 

Hope wipes the sticky traces of perspiration on her forehead just as she passes a bathroom. She realizes that she must look horrible. Merlin, Josie can’t see her like this. No. It would do horrid things to her image. 

Maybe if she just goes to the bathroom and freshens up a little bit...

Yes. She’ll go to the bathroom. She can’t allow Josie to see her like this, she won’t let the muggleborn view her as a mess. She just needs to freshen up. 

Hope pushes the door open, storming over to the sinks. Without a second thought, she turns on the faucet and throws water on her face repeatedly, soaking the collar of her robes. The liquid is cold and refreshing, and she allows herself to bask in it dripping down her face. 

The pureblood then grips the edge of the sink with both hands, shutting her eyes in an attempt to breathe deep and force as much air into her lungs as possible.

The sound of a toilet flushing causes her eyes to snap open, just as Jade Montgomery walks out of a stall. She stops at the sight of Hope all but having a nervous breakdown in front of the mirror. It appears as though the Gryffindor thinks her face is wet from tears instead of water. 

“God,” she starts laughing. “This is just priceless. _The_ Hope Mikaelson, crying her eyes out in the second floor girls’ bathroom. Wait ‘til everyone gets a load of this.” 

Hope starts laughing with her, that’s how crazy she is. She’s so fucking crazy that she actually starts chuckling like she’s heard the funniest joke in her life. 

“Oh, that’s weird,” she says inbetween laughs, stepping closer to the girl slowly enough as to not catch her attention immediately. She pretends to wipe a joyful tear from her eye. Jade gradually stops laughing. 

“What?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows together. Hope laughs harder. 

“You have something right here,” she tells the blonde, gesturing to her eye. Jade brings her fingers up to her right eye, and Hope smiles like an utter lunatic. 

_ An eye for an eye.  _

The _same_ eye. 

“Wha—“ Before Jade can even finish that single word, Hope reaches out with her left fist and crashes her knuckles across the girl’s eye once, twice, and then a third time. Her left hand is weaker than her right, but she still achieves the same amount of damage she wants to. 

The pureblood watches as Jade falls backwards and hits her shoulders against the wall of a stall, clutching at her face. 

Hope pulls back, stepping away and washing her hands calmly. She turns the water pressure on high to tune out the sounds of Jade’s pathetic whimpering, dries her hands, and leaves. 

As she walks to Snape’s classroom, she performs a drying charm on her robes. When she reaches the door of the room, she finds it already open. Hope swallows thickly when she realizes that she’s late. Snape and Josie are already talking when she walks inside. 

“—I have determined that the Fenarish are a friendly species, so I cannot say for certain that they were responsible for the ministry official’s disappearance. Therefore, we are right back where we started. However, the Department of Mysteries has allowed me to look at some more..._extensive_...case files,” Snape hands the pages to Josie. “I hope you can come to a better conclusion than I did.” 

He turns around to leave, when he notices Hope standing by the entrance. 

“Ah, Miss Mikaelson,” he acknowledges. “Five points from Slytherin for being late. Miss Saltzman can catch you up on what you’ll be doing tonight. I shall you see both in an hour.” 

Once he leaves, it becomes awkward in that terribly suffocating way that pulls at Hope’s lungs and closes up her throat, similar to this morning in Potions. 

Miss Saltzman decidedly does _not_ catch the pureblood up on what she’s missed. She simply crosses her arms and glances at Hope within the time it takes one to blink and then sits down. After forty entire minutes of achingly long silence, Hope speaks up sarcastically. 

“Thank you,” she drawls. “I understand _perfectly_ what we’re supposed to be doing.” 

She could probably do without the attitude, but the girl just spent most of their detention doing nothing and watching Josie read through the case files the entire time. Of course, normally she would have no problem doing none of the work, but the two of them have quite literally been torturing each other since yesterday and Hope can’t handle the stifling quiet for a second longer. 

Josie looks up and simply stares at her, as if contemplating whether or not she should even reply. Her eyes burn on Hope with such a familiar heat that the pureblood has no choice but to turn away or risk death. 

“You hurt my feelings,” Josie says, at last. The words are childish yet, coming out of the muggleborn’s mouth, Hope feels like _she’s_ the child, like _she’s_ the one being scolded. 

“I know,” Hope tells her, the frown pulling at her lips surprising her. She had hoped to remain straight-faced and expressionless, but it seems that she can never do that in front of the other girl. “I don’t blame you for trying to hurt me back.” 

Josie scoffs, glaring at Hope so viciously that she has to do a double-take. What had she done _now_? “I’m not asking for your forgiveness.” 

“You _hurt_ me.” Josie’s voice cracks just enough to form a lump in Hope’s own throat. The brunette stands up from her chair, all but throwing the pages in her hand on the nearest desk. “You told me that you liked me, and then you went and called me a _mudblood_. Does that not mean _anything_ to you?” 

Hope tries her hardest not to wince, allowing her legs to fall off the desk they’re propped on before she stands up, too. She stammers over her words; it seems her tongue can’t quite get them out exactly right. “Of _course_ it does! I spent hours killing myself over it! I didn’t mean, I didn’t—_Merlin_—I never meant for any of this. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t have a choice. What could I have done differently?” 

Josie looks like she wants to slap her own forehead. Or Hope. “Everything. You could have done _everything_ differently! You didn’t need to call me a slur, you didn’t need to—“ 

Hope charges forward, cutting her off. “_You_ didn’t need to kidnap _me_! Were you so upset that you allowed your friends to humiliate me so plainly? Just like that?” 

“I didn’t _allow_ them to!” Josie claims, her fist clenching into a tight ball before she notices and folds out her fingers. “I tried to convince Lizzie to change her mind the entire night! If I had known before, I would have warned you!” 

Hope laughs incredulously. “But you _did_ know before! I’m not stupid, I heard your friend. She said that you guys had been planning it for an _entire_ week. You had a _whole_ week to tell me, yet you just let me kiss you and chase after you like a fool.” 

“What?” Josie scrunches up her face in anger and confusion. “No. _No_. Of course I didn’t know! Lizzie waited until the last moment to tell me on purpose! I had no idea!” 

Hope furrows her eyebrows, her jaw clenching just barely. She releases her aching teeth, parting her mouth with an indignant sound. “Then how do you explain her getting into the common room? You _must_ have told her the password!” 

Josie looks away, her eyebrows knitting together. Her chest rises and falls as she audibly sucks in a breath. “I did, but only because I was angry with you. She took advantage of me when I was vulnerable. I regretted saying anything as soon as it left my mouth, I swear.” 

Hope wants to believe her, but her pride won’t let her. No. It couldn’t be. She had not spent the whole night suffering over a misunderstanding, she had not lost her trust in Josie because they suck at communicating. 

No. Hope is right. Josie is wrong. 

“Oh, yeah?” She grins humorlessly. Her next words sound borderline neurotic. “How do you explain the silencing charm after the fact, then? I know you casted it!” 

Josie leans back in surprise, before hissing, “You’re delusional!” 

“I saw a spell coming from your direction,” Hope claims, watching in a trance as Josie parts her lips to respond. Have her lips always looked so tantalizing? Like they’re begging Hope to meet them with her own? Thankfully, the pureblood shakes herself out of those kinds of thoughts quickly enough. 

“I was only trying to perform the counter curse for your restraints, and Lizzie caught me!” the muggleborn says. “I would _never_ do that!” 

“No,” Hope sneers something awful. “You just let it happen instead. Your sister tore off my clothes and condemned me to imminent mortification—and you did _nothing_!” 

“Oh,” Josie breathes, almost disbelieving. Hope steels herself for the girl’s response. “Just like _you_ defended _me_ in the great hall? You definitely stepped up, there, _huh_?” 

The pureblood grits her teeth, holding herself back from growling at the other girl. “No. That is _not_ the same. I did that to protect the both of us. Can’t you understand?” 

Josie shakes her head sadly. Her next words come very slowly. “You did it because you were scared, Hope.” 

Hope splutters, searching in vain for her words. “You didn’t want Daddy’s trust fund to be taken away from you, believe me, I totally understand.” 

The pureblood can barely breathe. She can barely believe that Josie actually said that. 

“No!” she nearly yells, her hand wrapping around the edge of a desk. She almost shakes with anger. How can Josie not understand? How can she not get it? “I didn’t want you to be taken away from me!” 

“Well,” Josie says after a moment of Hope fearing that she will never speak again. “That was an awful way of showing it.” 

“You couldn’t have just asked me out the normal way?” Josie continues, causing Hope to scowl. Surely, it couldn’t have been _that_ easy. “No one would have said a word against it, they’ve been following me around all day to do just that.” 

Hope’s chest caves in at the reminder that her housemates have been panting like dogs after Josie the entire day. She rubs a hand over her heart absentmindedly, as if she could try to soothe the pain gnawing at her. 

“You can’t go with any of them,” the pureblood tells her, her eyes dark and desperate. Her voice sounds scraped raw, almost pleading. She turns her back to Josie, not wanting her to see the heavy emotion clearly written across her face. “You _can’t_.” 

“Why?” 

Hope whirls around, her voice a mix between a whisper and a yell. She almost falters at their proximity. She had not expected Josie to be so close to her. Her stomach swoops, but not unpleasantly. “They do not care for you. Not as I do. They do not...” 

_ They do not love you as I do.  _

There it is again. That thought, that confession, appearing at the surface of her thoughts and itching at her throat as if begging to be scratched. 

She loves Josette Saltzman. 

It’s the only explanation for why she constantly thinks about her, the only reason she had forgiven the girl so readily for that awful prank. It’s why she had gotten so upset upon seeing her with a black eye, it’s why she had gotten so angry at Jade, it’s why she had beaten the blonde muggleborn up in the bathroom. 

“Would you have said yes?” Hope murmurs quietly, her eyes locking onto Josie’s. Josie doesn’t know it, but she’s begging the muggleborn to tell her no. If she doesn’t, Hope might do something crazy, like kiss her or maybe propose. Yes. She might go insane. She might do something absolutely _dreadful_. 

Josie doesn’t answer right away though, her lips forming into a pout, her eyes staring so peculiarly into Hope’s like she wants the girl to unravel right in front of her. 

“If I asked. Would you have said yes?” Hope repeats. Is it possible to want something and not want it at the same time? The pureblood thinks that maybe it is. 

“Tell me you didn’t mean it,” Josie says randomly, quite clearly referring to yesterday’s events during breakfast. Her gaze becomes searching as well, and Hope’s mouth runs dry as blue and brown collide once again. Her eyes flicker down to soft lips. “Tell me.” 

“I didn’t.” Hope swipes a tongue along her own chapped lips, her heart jumping into her throat. Hope is not certain that Josie _can’t_ see the outline of it beating through her neck. 

Ultimately, she finds herself unsure of her next move. She can feel the heat of Josie’s eyes on the pureblood settle over her entire body. She wonders if they’re going to kiss now, if it would be appropriate to lean in and catch Josie’s lips with her own. 

Maybe foolishly, she grabs the bottom of Josie’s—_her_—robe and pulls her forward, allowing their lips to breeze against each other much a light wind. 

Someone raps against the door with heavy knuckles, completely ruining the moment. Josie blinks and steps back, turning away as quickly as possible once Professor Snape swings open the door. 

“Detention is over. You may leave,” he tells them, a strange expression on his face. “We will discuss whatever you read tomorrow.” 

Hope nods dumbly, watching as Josie leaves the room without a goodbye to either of them. It doesn’t make sense. Josie usually tries her best to kiss up to teachers, yet she can’t even attempt a simple word of parting? 

“Goodnight, Professor,” Hope mutters distractedly, following after Josie. No. She doesn’t care anymore. Josie had been about to say yes, she knows it. She almost said it. She had been _this_ close. Hope knows. She _knows_. 

“Where are you going?” Hope calls after her. And why so quickly? Seriously, one could thinka dragon was chasing after her, with the speed she’s traveling at. 

“To my room.” Josie doesn’t even turn around, her voice carried to Hope by the empty walls. It’s dark enough in the hallway that the pureblood has to jog to keep the muggleborn in her vision. 

“We’re not done.” 

“We _are_!” Josie spins around, and Hope can see the tears in her eyes by the candlelight nearby. Her own eyes sting. “I can’t do this anymore. This back and forth, this—I don’t even know what _this_ is!”

Hope knows exactly what this is. She can feel it in her chest whenever the other girl smiles at her, she can feel it grow dizzy in her head whenever the other girl kisses her. She knows what it is, but she’s too nervous to label it. She’s scared, but she doesn’t want to be. She wants Josie to know what this is, too. 

She should tell her. She should tell her while Josie is still standing in front of her. She should tell her while she can still remember the feeling of the girl’s lips ghosting over hers, she should tell her before she regrets it with everything inside of her. Because she _will_ regret it. 

Hope takes a deep breath, forces herself not to look away, forces her voice not to crack. She wraps a hand around her neck, adjusts her crooked tie, briefly feels the pulse there hammering against her throat. 

“I love you.” 

“What?” Josie’s lips remain parted passed uttering the word, her eyes widening so drastically that they appear to see nothing at all. She stands as still as the gargoyle statue outside Dumbledore’s office, and Hope stops breathing. Her stomach churns in agony. Her heart bleeds. Her mind quiets. 

“_I_ love _you_.” Hope’s tongue curls more familiarly around the words after the second time saying them. She absentmindedly notes that she hasn’t said them for a while, not to her friends, not to her family. _Yes_. It’s been quite a long time, _indeed_. 

“No.” Josie shakes her head vehemently, like she can’t accept it. Hope’s face falls. She looks pissed, the pureblood thinks. Yes. She is _definitely_ somewhat angry as she comes storming over to Hope. “You don’t _get_ to do that! You _can’t_ do that. You can’t, you can’t—“ 

“I love you,” Hope repeats again, wanting to hear the words back, needing to hear the words back. Her voice grows thick with fear, and her blood rushes to her head but stills everywhere else in her body. It leaves her breathless and dizzy. “Do you not love me as well?” 

A blush travels up the muggleborn’s neck and Hope watches her throat bob. It makes the pureblood wring her hands out nervously as she waits for an answer. She pulls at the Mikaelson ring on her middle finger, twisting it in and out of position. 

“T-that’s not, that doesn’t matter,” Josie stutters out. Hope thinks she sounds very unconvincing. “This isn’t going to work. I-I mean, you’ve said it yourself, a muggleborn and a pureblood—it, it doesn’t _work_. You’re going to get married to some rich pureblood and I...” 

Her words seem to fall away, and her eyes peer at the floor. Hope looks down to see what’s so interesting, but finds nothing at all. “I...I don’t know.” 

“But I love you.” It’s so easy to say it now. How could she not see it before? The words are meant to be on her tongue, she knows now. They sound nice to her ears, but she just wants to hear them said back to her. That would sound much nicer, right? 

“That’s not enough!” Josie snaps, her words cutting right to Hope’s chest. The organ in her rib cage gives a weak, yearning flutter. “Don’t you see?” 

Hope snaps, too. 

“What, do you need more?” She asks, imploding into dangerous panic. It’s panic. It’s panic in her gut and in her bones and in her head. Panic everywhere. No. No. She isn’t being rejected right now. Josie loves her. She loves her. She’s just scared. That’s all. “Do you need me to promise you? Because I—“ 

Hope’s fingers tremble, pulling at each other messily. They get stuck at her ring and she twists it off completely. 

“I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!” Hope stumbles forward to the floor on one knee. Josie gasps—nearly silent and entirely surprised—but she ignores it. Her hands are still shaking when she offers the ring. She doesn’t care anymore. She doesn’t. “You need more? Here. I can give you _more_. Marry me.”

She watches in anticipation as Josie sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and worries it into a nice, bright-red color. Just as Hope thinks about running away and pretending this never happened, the muggleborn gives her an answer. 

Josie’s hand encloses around the ring and the pureblood’s fingers, pulling her up to a stand very slowly. Hope swallows and turns her head away, but Josie’s other hand wraps around her chin as well. 

“No,” she smiles, shaking her head. It should make Hope’s heart break, but it doesn’t. “We’re sixteen. Not to mention, I’ve only been here for a month.” 

“But...” she starts, hesitating slightly. Hope looks on completely enraptured. “I love you, too.”

The pureblood’s chest blooms like the first day of spring after months of winter, and she beams whole-heartedly. What had she been worried about in the first place? 

“We’re not getting married, though,” Josie adds, giggling a little. Hope nods, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

Maybe she _had_ overreacted, but she definitely isn’t going to show it now. 

Hope smirks slightly, trying to save face. “I was joking, anyways.” 

“Sure,” Josie laughs. 

Then she kisses her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finite Incantatem: countercurse for more spells
> 
> Aguamenti: creates water


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops

“—The ministry has remained suspicious of us, but for the time being I have proved able to convince them that the prophecy is not authentic. Hopefully, that will be enough to rid us of their presence for now...” 

Professor Snape enters the headmaster’s office, all eyes on him. He pauses, pursing his lips as every teacher in the room looks at him expectantly. Dumbledore stops talking himself as everyone quiets to hear Snape’s intel. 

“Miss Mikaelson...” he trails off, not knowing exactly how to word this. Some professors lean forward with anticipation. “_Proposed_? I confess, I could not hear them, but Miss Saltzman seemed to welcome the idea...” 

McGonagall audibly gasps, but other than her, no one makes a single sound or attempts to speak. The only noise in the room is the distant melody of a phoenix singing and its flapping wings clapping against the air outside. 

“Severus, are you sure?” Dumbledore asks at last, the first one to pull himself together. One by one, the professors around him begin to blink out of their shock. They nod as if to agree with their headmaster’s uncertainty. 

“To my utter shock,” Snape starts slowly, “I witnessed them...fraternizing...in the corridor outside my classroom.”

Professor Vector takes that instant to giggle out something between a scoff and a laugh, and Snape scowls at her. Vector forces her lips into a thin line, but the humor remains quite obviously in her eyes. Snape narrows his own eyes but continues. 

“Unfortunately,” he adds, wrinkling his nose. “It seems that they have entered the _honeymoon_ stage—if you will—in their relationship. Let me be clear, I am referring to the fact that their desire has made them blind. I have never seen two teenagers so passionately intermingling, in the hallways no less. In fact, I had to perform a cloaking charm on them for fear another student out after curfew might happen to pass by.” 

“Hmm,” Dumbledore hums thoughtfully, with a hint of utter delight. “Next time, you shall do no such thing. It might be better for us if someone does happen to stumble upon them.” 

“Politely, sir—“ Snape tries to argue, but Professor Flitwick speaks up. 

“You saw them, you’re positive?” he splutters, still looking at Snape. It seems he and all the other teachers in the room still can’t believe the man. 

“With absolutely certainty,” Snape declares, the harsh set of his eyes communicating his sincerity. 

All at once, the room dissolves into clapping and cheering. Professor Slughorn starts to pump his fists into the air like he’s a child rather than an older man, and Professor McGonagall just about faints before Vector catches her. 

“Thank Merlin!” Hagrid shouts, waving and twisting his hands and fingers strangely in order to pay respect to his giant-human ancestors. 

Snape allows himself a small smile as he watches his fellow staff members celebrate around him. 

This had been a _long_ time coming, indeed. 

“If Severus is confident,” Dumbledore says, when everyone is finished. “Then we should leave them be for now. If they have come this far on their own—“

Every professor in the room immediately sobers up and glares at the old man. 

“—They can do the rest themselves. However, I would still like Severus and Septima to advise the girls on their upcoming nuptials whenever deemed appropriate. Pomona, it might do well to mention peonies or daisies in Herbology for the wedding arrangements and bouquets.” 

Snape, Vector, and Sprout all roll their eyes while the other teachers release small sighs of exasperation. 

_So much for leaving them alone_, Vector thinks. 

“In the meantime,” Dumbledore smiles, painfully and blissfully unaware, “we should examine a different aspect of the prophecy. If you all can remember, Sybil prophesied that Miss Mikaelson would be our savior, I believe?” 

They all turn to Trelawney, who shrugs with wide, oblivious eyes. She still can’t remember a single word she had said that fateful night. 

Snape huffs and pulls out his transcript of the prophecy he had taken, swiftly catching everyone’s attention. He reads, “Only their union can truly free us from Merlin’s wrath, and the great evil’s heir shall become the wizarding world’s savior.” 

His words linger between them all as no one speaks up, unsure of what to make of that or what to even say. 

“It is getting fairly late,” Dumbledore acknowledges, nearly a minute later. “I’ll leave you all with this...” 

“What _is_ Miss Mikaelson saving us from?” 

_Or who_, Snape tacks on in the private comfort of his mind.

—

The next day, Hope Mikaelson finds herself standing between two bookshelves, her eyes on the group of Gryffindors and a single Slytherin sitting at a table towards the back of the large library. 

She had been watching the muggleborn brunette of the group for the past ten minutes, a small smile glued to her lips no matter how much she had tried to fight it off. 

The reason? 

Last night, Josie Saltzman and her had agreed that they would try at this, and although Josie had rejected her marriage proposal and given Hope the ring back, the pureblood can’t be disappointed about it in any way. Especially since she now knows that Josie feels the same as she does—that Josie loves her, too. 

This is exactly what she had always wanted, after all.

To add, her day is going great. She had woken up early without feeling tired even though she had spent much of her night awake, Josie had smiled at her from the Gryffindor table, and now Hope is looking forward to their detention alone together. 

The pureblood is so consumed with her thoughts that she doesn’t notice the muggleborn stand up from her seat at the table nor does she notice how the girl quietly makes her way over to where she is. 

“You punched Jade?!” A voice hisses just behind Hope, and she spins around so quickly that she almost collides into Josie. 

Hope frowns, forgetting that she actually had punched Jade last night. The event means so close to nothing to her that she can barely remember right. 

“She told you?” Hope furrows her eyebrows, trying not to inappropriately rake her eyes up and down Josie’s legs, which are exposed by the skirt pulled high up her hips. Her hair is so pretty, too, and Hope’s eyes linger dangerously. “What a snitch.” 

Josie rolls her own eyes, grabbing Hope’s arm and dragging her to a more isolated, hidden aisle. Hope doesn’t know exactly why, since no one could have seen them where they were standing before. 

“You’re going to apologize to her,” Josie all but orders, leaning into Hope’s side as she basically shoves her against the end of a tall shelf. Hope scowls. 

“No. I won’t.” She attempts not to laugh, knowing it’ll only infuriate Josie further. “She deserved it.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Josie sighs, her eyes falling shut as she pinches the bridge of her nose. Hope reaches out and places a soothing hand on Josie’s arm, but drops it as Josie snaps her eyes open to glare at her. “You might get in trouble! If she goes to a professor, she could get you expelled.” 

Hope actually chuckles at that, smirking a bit cockily. “They won’t expel a Mikaelson for something so insignificant.” 

Josie seems to bristle at her arrogance. “Fine.” 

She crosses her arms pointedly. “If you’re so confident, maybe I should report you _myself_.” 

The muggleborn begins to walk away as if to do just that, and Hope laughs, tugging her back. Josie comes far too willingly, the corner of her lip cracking up. 

“You’re not really mad, are you?” Hope asks, lightly placing a hand on the girl’s hip as Josie invites herself into the pureblood’s personal space. Hope glances between the brunette’s eyes and her lips, wondering if it would be appropriate to kiss her, or if she should wait until they’re alone. 

There’s no one around them, though, so Hope thinks she might be able to get away with it. Especially since Josie had seemed to like her kisses last night, so she doubts she’d be adverse to them right now, right? 

“No,” Josie says softly. She shakes her head, arching into the hand attached to her hip. “But you’re still going to apologize to her.” 

“Alright.” Hope nods, a sly smile slithering across her lips. The hand on Josie’s hip moves to wrap around the back of her waist, pulling her even closer. “If I promise to apologize, will you let me kiss you?” 

Josie bites her lip, hesitating, but Hope doesn’t have to wait long. The muggleborn comes to a decision pretty quickly, nodding her head—but she stays still, leaving everything up to the Mikaelson heir. 

Hope grins, swiftly pushing off of the bookshelf and switching their positions so that Josie’s back is to the wall instead. The muggleborn gives a small Yelp at the sudden movement, their fronts brushing against each other in seconds. It sends jolts down the pureblood’s skin, and she nearly buzzes with excitement as Josie inhales so sharply that Hope hears it like music to her ears. 

“I promise, then.” 

Hope only gives Josie time to blink before she closes the distance, before she moves her lips onto the muggleborn’s. Almost instantly, a strangled noise from the back of her throat throbs against her closed lips, asking for escape and pleading for attention. 

She forces it down because, no, she won’t moan for something so simple as a kiss. She is not so weak or easy to humiliate, even if her knees wobble, even if her heart shakes from the overwhelming feeling of Josie’s lips on hers.

In fact, blood rushes so quickly to Hope’s head that she becomes almost dizzy and nearly falls over. Josie’s hands around the back of her neck keep her steady, grounding her to the library and the rest of the world as the kiss deepens.

Hope removes her hand from Josie’s waist so she can hold her more thoroughly against the bookshelf, her palms laying flat along the girl’s sides as she tilts her head and opens her mouth. 

Josie’s tongue meets her own fervently and they fall into a heated rhythm, pulling and pushing until they break from their kiss, lips numb and bruised. Hope’s eyes flutter open to watch Josie lean back and collapse with her head against the wall, breathing quite heavily. 

The pureblood leans forward after her. 

“H-Hope. We’re in public,” she murmurs shakily, her hands snaking around Hope’s relaxed shoulders to stop her from moving in again. The sweet sound of her ragged breathing lulls Hope in anyways, but Josie’s words effectively stop the pureblood from trying to kiss her again. She starts to focus her attention somewhere else. “We should—“ 

Josie stutters at the sensation of fingers skimming at the hem of her shirt under her robe. She moans softly when they travel slightly higher, arching into the touch so eagerly that Hope fears she might snap her spine. She just smirks, kissing down to her neck with parted lips. 

“We should stop. Someone might see us,” Josie finishes, after a long moment of clenching her eyes shut as Hope’s lips press down harder against her skin. 

When her words finally register, Hope looks around for a short second before continuing her rather unhelpful ministrations. 

“This is the Divination section,” the pureblood whispers against her neck, close to her ear now. “I can assure you, not a single person at Hogwarts is bored or sick enough to pick up a book from here.” 

Josie nods, still a little shakily, as Hope sucks the skin below her pulse point into her mouth. Her teeth join the mix soon after, rough but careful and the muggleborn only tilts her head to give her more room. After a particularly aggressive nip, Josie gasps quite loudly for being in a library and Hope takes the next moment to back up and admire her work. 

Desire pools like liquid lava in her abdomen as Josie bites down on her lip in embarrassment, her neck glistening and her cheeks delightfully pink. 

“Merlin,” she breathes, her pupils dilating. “You look so hot in my robe.” 

She leans in to connect their lips again when Josie frowns and looks down. “This is yours?” 

“You sound surprised.” Hope chuckles, placing a soft kiss against that same hollow of Josie’s throat. She earns a sigh in return, and her eyelids flutter at the sound. “My family crest is stitched into the right pocket.” 

“Oh.” Josie cocks her head to the side, removing Hope’s hand from underneath her shirt to examine the aforementioned pocket. “Huh. I thought I threw this one away when I got my new one.” 

Hope freezes. “You did what now?” 

“Yeah, I distinctly remember burning it to ashes.” She even has the audacity to pout in confusion. 

“Okay, I get it,” the pureblood tries to tell her, slightly offended, but Josie continues. 

“I mean, I even set the ashes on fire, too—“ 

Hope pouts herself and looks away, accidentally catching sight of a familiar professor with large glasses and bat-shit, crazy eyes coming their way. 

“Fuck,” she curses, swallowing thickly. “Treloony is coming.” 

“Who?” 

“Sorry, uh, Trelawney. Good luck.” 

Hope jumps around to the other side of the bookcase just as the Divination professor notices Josie. 

“Oh, Miss Saltzman,” she acknowledges, and Hope thinks that even her voice sounds utterly insane. “What a pleasant surprise! Doing some extra reading for class?” 

“Kind of,” Josie mumbles, and Hope watches from the other side as she pulls out a random book from the shelf next to her. “I wanted to learn more about...” 

She glances down to the cover of the book, reading, “Prophecies and their role in our history.” 

“_Prophecies_?!” Trelawney sounds scared, raising her voice to such a high-pitch that Hope’s ears start to ring. Madame Pince even shushes the woman from all the way across the room. The pureblood watches as Trelawney tries in vain to school the expression on her face, but she only succeeds in lowering her voice. “Oh no, dear, you want nothing to do with that. Let me take this off your hands.” 

She grabs the book right out from Josie’s grip and promptly scurries away. 

“Thank you?” Josie says, and Hope smothers her laughter down. 

“Of course,” Trelawney calls back, and when the pureblood sees that she’s finally gone, she comes up behind Josie. 

“Thank you!” she mocks, raising her voice to imitate the muggleborn’s own the best she can. Josie only glares at her, but Hope knows that she isn’t really angry. 

“That was weird,” she adds a moment later, narrowing her eyes at the spot where Trelawney had stood seconds ago. They both begin to remember all the strange things that they had discussed weeks ago. 

“We need to find out what this prophecy is,” the muggleborn says determinedly, and Hope nods with a similar look on her face. 

The bell rings before she can respond, though, and they silently agree to go their separate ways even though they’re both headed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

True to her word, Josie makes her apologize to Jade before class starts. She doesn’t say anything, but a pointed glance and a nod of her head in Jade’s direction makes everything perfectly clear. 

Hope stands up from her seat, approaching Jade’s desk dreadfully slowly. She looks back briefly at Josie, silently asking for a way out, but the muggleborn doesn’t waver and makes a shooing motion with her hand. Whatever. 

She made a promise. She’ll keep her word. 

Jade seems to startle when she sees her, and Hope tries her hardest not to smirk when the girl almost falls off her chair. The muggleborn rubs at her eye—Hope thinks maybe unconsciously—and sits up straight. Her desk partner does the same as well. 

“Mikaelson?” Jade scrunches up her nose, which somehow irritates Hope. The girl scoots her chair away from her, almost..._afraid_? 

“Right. I would like to apologize,” Hope says loudly, glancing over to Josie to make sure she can hear it. “...For not hitting you harder.” 

She tries her best not to laugh, since the blonde doesn’t seem to find it as funny. In fact, Jade simply sneers at her. “I don’t care for your false condolences, Mikaelson—“ 

“Okay,” Hope interrupts, practically feeling Josie glaring into the side of her head. “I am truly sorry...” 

Jade’s sneer fades away slightly. 

“That I didn’t get your other eye, too.” 

Jade’s partner snickers slightly, causing the Gryffindor muggleborn to stand up with red cheeks, nearly foaming at the mouth. The feeling of Josie’s eyes on Hope grows tenfold, and she feels her gaze like a hundred knives. 

“I swear...” 

“Okay, okay,” Hope says, before Jade can get another word in edgewise. The pureblood thinks that if the other girl starts yelling she might actually blow up, Hope can almost see the steam coming out of her ears. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m sorry, or whatever.” 

She leaves before Jade can accept her apology or even throw it back into her face, sitting down next to Josie with two arms crossed and a small frown on her face. 

Josie herself appears more than satisfied, and Hope glances over to catch the beginnings of a bruise forming where she had kissed the muggleborn’s neck earlier. There’s only a slight red discoloration so far, so Hope decides not to tell her about it, her frown lifting up into a secret smile. It’s not like anyone _else_ will notice, anyways. 

—

Hope sits in the Owlery, twenty minutes before her detention, trying to come up with the words to tell her family not to come to the ball. 

“How about you just tell them that their presence is unneeded?” Rose says, trying to be helpful, but Hope notices that she’s struggling with her own letter. For Merlin’s sake, the girl hasn’t even written anything down yet—unlike Hope, who has already written the date across the top. 

Hope doesn’t know what Rose is writing to her family about, but she thinks she might appear nosey if she asks. So, the pureblood decides to stay quiet about that particular topic. 

“That’ll make my father suspicious,” she says. “I need to think of a good reason. Or maybe I shouldn’t give them one at all.” 

“Oh, what about...you’ve caught dragon pox and you’re in isolation for the sake of the school!” Rose all but screams, nearly patting herself on the back for the idea. 

“You’re completely right,” Hope deadpans. “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

Rose dips her quill in her ink jar for the fourth time, smiling as the ink turns pink due to the charm on her quill. “You’re welcome.” 

After about another ten minutes of doodling on random pieces of parchment paper, Hope finishes her letter:

_ Dear Father, Mother,  _

_ All is well. Your first letter was well-received, and I have completely recovered from my injury since. I hope you can forgive me for the delay in my own reply. I have been admittedly very busy with my schoolwork.  _

_ Thank you for the chocolates and well wishes. I cannot wait to come home to the manor in light of winter break. I shall see you then; moreover, do not worry about coming to the ball Hogwarts is hosting prior to that. I have decided not to attend myself.  _

_ See you in a few weeks, _

_ Hope Mikaelson  _

“Are you a random house-elf or their daughter?” Rose laughs once she reads over the letter. “There’s no way they’ll go for that.”

Hope rolls her eyes. This _has_ to work. She has no choice but for her parents to accept her response and not come. If her parents ever meet Josie...if they ever even _see_ her...

“Whatever,” Hope says. “I have detention. Can you send it out for me before practice?” 

Rose nods as the pureblood collects her stuff, setting down her paper, which still has no words on it that Hope can catch when she glances over. 

“Thanks. Feed Marbles while you’re at it,” Hope adds, before she disappears past the exit. She drops her stuff off at the common room and then begins to make her way to Snape’s classroom. 

She somehow arrives there before Josie. Snape waves her in emotionlessly, his back to her as he faces his desk. 

“I suppose we can wait a minute for Miss Saltzman before we get started,” the man says, gathering some papers from the table in front of him. A minute passes and Miss Saltzman does not show up. 

Snape glances at the door before turning to the pureblood. 

“Have you ever been to a wedding, Hope?” he asks, and the use of her first name quickly alarms her. She stills, furrowing her eyebrows. Hope finds that she can’t quite meet his hard gaze.

“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice slightly rough. She clears her throat as quietly as possible. 

“Then I’m sure you know how crucial it is to pick the right venue, correct? Selecting appropriate music is important as well.” Snape sounds a bit awkward, but he gets the words out sternly enough that Hope’s heart pounds with dread. 

“...Are you getting married, sir?” she asks, very slowly. Snape seems to choke, his thin lips patting and closing repeatedly. He gathers himself relatively quickly. 

“I’m afraid that _that_ is a definite..._no_...Miss Mikaelson.” It seems that he has had enough of any semblance of intimacy as he reverts back to her last name. 

“What are you getting at, then?” she implores, the set of her back tensing somewhat. Fear laces her veins and clenches her jaw. 

Does he know...? 

Did he see—

A creaking sound by the entrance notifies Hope that Josie is coming, and both she and Snape quickly shut up. They share a meaningful glance before the pureblood turns around to face Josie, who doesn’t look at her in return. 

“Miss Saltzman, you’re just on time,” Snape drawls, clasping his hands together politely. “Were you able to determine anything from yesterday’s research?” 

Josie blushes. Hope smirks. They had not done a lot of researching last night. “Yes and no. I agree with you that the Fenarish seem friendly, so I—well, I thought that...” 

“Out with it,” Snape snaps his fingers impatiently, and Hope scowls, feeling just about ready to hex him. 

“I think that the Fenarish had nothing to do with that ministry official disappearing,” Josie says finally, her eyes steel. Hope frowns, wondering why the muggleborn hasn’t even glanced at her yet. Surely, there had been many opportunities to do so already. “He only wants everyone to think that they did. Or at least, if not him, someone else does.” 

Snape raises his eyebrows minutely, clearly surprised and a little impressed. “That...is a bold accusation, Miss Saltzman.” 

Josie audibly gulps. 

“Yet,” he adds, a tad solemnly. “I fear I have reached the same conclusion. Unfortunately, the material I went through myself this afternoon neither confirms or denies this theory of ours.” 

He hands over said-material, and Hope stands between them wholly confused and mostly uninterested. “Go through everything I did. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will be of great aid somehow...” 

He side-eyes Hope, like an afterthought. “Oh. You, too, Miss Mikaelson.” 

Hope rolls her eyes exasperatedly, grabbing a pile of papers and lifting herself onto a desk with a huff. A large part of her remains irritated that the muggleborn still hasn’t even glanced in her direction despite Snape calling her out. 

The Defense professor bids both of them goodbye a moment later, and Hope waves at him sickly-sweetly with the documents still in her hand. 

As soon as Snape disappears, the atmosphere in the room changes. It electrifies and sparks with heat, becoming so charged that Hope inhales once and nearly catches on fire. She startles as Josie storms up to her, her eyes ablaze and the set of her shoulders tense and angry. 

“What’s wrong?” Hope asks, drawing her brows together as she narrows her eyes. Her obliviousness seems to make the situation worse, because Josie then furiously pushes her legs apart on the desk and stands between them. A thrill shoots down the pureblood’s spine and burns in her stomach. 

“You made me walk around with a hickey the size of a golf ball the entire day,” Josie accuses, her voice somewhere between whispering and yelling. Hope’s throat bobs as she lowers her gaze to Josie’s neck, which is decidedly _un_blemished, probably thanks to some glamour spell. “It looked like someone punched me in the throat. No one even told me but Lizzie ten minutes ago! Lizzie. My sister. For the second time now, might I add.” 

Hope just stares at her, trying to swallow passed the lump in her throat and the thought in her head telling her how turned on she is right now. She absentmindedly notices the alluring shade of Josie’s lipstick. She tries to remember if the girl had been wearing it earlier, or if she just put it on minutes before now. 

She’s certain that she hadn’t been wearing it earlier. 

Hope’s staring must unnerve the muggleborn because she shifts forward again, her hands in front of her.

Hope only finds her voice when Josie reaches for her collar and starts moving it. “What are you doing—golf?” 

“I’m not explaining it to you,” Josie tells her, her fingers still fumbling around Hope’s tie. “I’m getting revenge. How could you do that?” 

Hope bats her hands away, patting the top of Josie’s head almost patronizingly. “You can’t blame me, Mikaelsons are naturally possessive.” 

Josie shoots daggers at her and huffs, placing the palm of her hand below Hope’s chin and lifting her head up. The gesture might be sweet if not for the girl’s intentions. “What, did your family teach you how to leave hickeys right out of the womb?” 

Hope’s eyes flutter shut with the beginnings of laughter, ready with a retort, when a pair of lips suddenly dip down and latch onto the flesh of her throat. She groans. Loudly. 

“Ha—_ughn_,” the pureblood chokes out, completely unprepared for Josie doing that. 

Her eyes shoot open, her mouth falls open, her legs spread open, everything opens. She blinks, pupils blown and irises dark, clamping a hand over her mouth to smother the sound coming out of her mouth, since it appears that her lips aren’t enough to stop it. 

Hope desperately tries to save face, her cheeks aflame in embarrassment. She drops the hand over her mouth to fall on the desk, which Josie fastly intertwines with her own. “You don’t waste time...” 

Unfortunately, she lets out another humiliating moan when Josie swipes a hot tongue along a very sensitive spot on her neck. Hope grits her teeth uselessly to prevent another sound from escaping the space between them. 

“Do you?” Hope ends up panting everything out, instead of remaining cool and collected like she had wanted to. She feels Josie smile against her neck, drifting even lower. The muggleborn’s hand attempts a second try at undoing her tie. 

“Why did you knot your tie like this?” Josie mumbles, pouting slightly. Hope’s brain is so foggy that she actually has to think to respond. Her mind searches for the reason with great difficulty. 

“Oh, uh,” she blinks with heavy-lidded eyes. Teeth scrape against her collarbone like an accident as Josie finally loosens the tie. She throws it over her shoulder carelessly. “Maya did that this morning.” 

“Does she usually do it for you?” the muggleborn asks, undoing the first button on Hope’s shirt and mouthing at the newly exposed skin. The pureblood tightens an encouraging fist within the depths of her hair. 

“Yes?” she asks, her breath catching something like a moan in her throat. Why is she letting Josie do this? Whatever, she’ll just spell any marks away later. “Yes, uh, yeah. Sometimes.” 

Josie’s lips part from her skin, leaning back enough that Hope’s own chase after her. The muggleborn doesn’t allow their lips to meet, however. 

“_Hope Mikaelson_,” she whispers in a scandalized tone, breathy and playful. Hope’s mouth runs dry. “Do you not know how to tie it yourself?” 

The fog in Hope’s mind clears almost immediately at the question and she flushes, pushing Josie away. She drops back to the floor, running a hand through her hair. Her words come out breathless. “What? Of course I do.” 

She’s a bloody Mikaelson. 

She knows how to knot a tie. 

“I bet,” Josie laughs out, unwilling to notice Hope’s hurt pride. She bends over and continues laughing, and the pureblood scowls at her, only slightly vexed. 

“I know how to,” Hope insists petulantly, but Josie has none of that. She only giggles like a child again, even starting to search the floor for the tie she had thrown behind her. 

“Here,” Josie picks it up and smiles innocently, handing the tie over. “Show me, then.” 

Hope hesitates before grabbing the offending object roughly and cramming it deep into the pocket of her robe. She pouts, much like a toddler stomping one’s foot during a temper tantrum, declaring, “I don’t have to show you anything.” 

She _knows_ how to do it. 

It just takes her a while sometimes. 

Maya can tie it a bit faster. 

That’s all. 

Ultimately, Hope’s words aren’t enough to convince the muggleborn. 

Josie laughs so hard that she begins to wheeze, throwing her head back and clutching at her stomach. Hope doesn’t find it as humorous, and she looks around the room for a distraction. 

“Right, well...” She grabs the previously disregarded pile of papers, collapsing down into a chair. She peers at the words on them blankly, seeing pages but seeing nothing at the same time. She tries her best to pretend that she hadn’t just been a puddle in Josie’s hold a minute ago. “We’re supposed to be working.” 

“Okay,” Josie hums, sitting next to her, fixing her smudged lipstick. Hope scoots her chair away pointedly, rubbing at her sore neck. It aches in all the right places, and the happy smile the muggleborn throws her way only makes everything worse...or better. 

They’re sitting so close, too. If Hope shifts an inch or three to the left, their knees might bump. To add, Josie has her arm laid out all prettily, her hand palm-up. It makes the pureblood want to reach out and lace her fingers with the brunette’s, but she’s feeling a little shy after everything so she doesn’t. 

It’s not like they’re at that point either. The point where they can hold hands out of habit or something. No. They only hold hands when they kiss—or when they’re forced to. It would be much too fast for Hope to try anything like that now. 

After about thirty minutes of Hope conspicuously glancing at Josie’s hand and back to her own, willing it to move, she fixes her gaze somewhere else, though not a very far away place, indeed. 

She raises her eyes to Josie’s face—a bit obviously, but the muggleborn doesn’t seem to notice—finding squinted eyes and an adorably scrunched up nose. 

She appears to be very concentrated on the paper in front of her. Hope leans over slightly to look at what so intently has Josie’s attention—a photograph. 

The magical picture includes a swiveling panorama of a desk and a black symbol marked on a beige wall. Hope’s eyebrows knit together. 

“Hey, I recognize that,” she blurts, causing Josie to jump in surprise. She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“You do?” the muggleborn asks, and Hope leans in more over her shoulder to get a better look. 

“I think...” Her eyes trace the black mark of a muddy, thick skull. She nods. She had definitely seen it before. “Yeah. My father has a tattoo like that on his arm.” 

Josie whirls her head around to look at Hope. She holds up the photograph again. “Are you sure? This symbol?” 

Hope nods once more. Josie flushes, turning away almost awkwardly. She starts talking with great reluctance. “Well, um, this symbol was found in ministry official Tom Bradley’s flat—you know, the one that went missing. The report says that it was where he was last seen by his neighbor. See...” 

She points. “The symbol was painted onto the wall above his desk. The officials investigating his disappearance were unable to figure out if he painted it himself or not. Do you know anything about it?” 

Hope furrows her eyebrows. 

“The symbol?” Josie clarifies, unnecessarily. Hope knows what she means. 

“Not really.” The pureblood shrugs, leaning back precariously in her own chair. The legs of the chair tip over but don’t fall. “I only asked about it once. Father called it the ‘mud mark’ or something.” 

“Did he say anything else?” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek, trying to remember everything her father had mentioned. She only really remembers being bothered by the fact that he had come home so late—that it got too dark for him to teach her the cool, new broom trick he had promised to. “Well, he said that he and his ministry friends all got the tattoo together, as some kind of pact...”

Her mind swarms, the memory much too distant for her to pick up even the most concrete of remnants . “He also told me that I could get my own in a couple of years when I was old enough, but I thought he was joking. My mother sort of loathes tattoos.” 

She snaps out of her mind, pinking slightly at the way Josie is looking at her. She had definitely said too much. 

“Do you find it odd?” The muggleborn pulls her chair around to face her. Hope frowns. “What would that tattoo be doing on Bradley’s wall? Is he one of your dad’s ministry friends?” 

“The name’s not very familiar,” Hope admits. “Do you have a picture of him?” 

Josie sorts through the papers to pull out a small photograph of the man. Hope blinks, having never seen that man once in her life.

“No, I don’t recognize him.” She shakes her head, “and I know all of my father’s friends.” 

“Okay.” Josie places the picture on the desk, tapping her foot with a weird expression on her face. She scans through the other papers again, before coming to a decision. “So let’s assume he’s an enemy.” 

Hope actually laughs at that, shooting the other girl a weird look. 

“Are you in Slytherin or not?” Josie rolls her eyes and Hope’s jaw hangs open. 

“You’re asking _me_ that?” 

Josie ignores her.

“Do you think it could be a calling card?” 

Hope raises her eyebrows. 

“It’s something left behind at the scene of a crime to take responsibility for that crime,” the girl explains tentatively, and Hope’s heart drops. Apprehension pools like sand in her lungs. She sucks in a harsh breath, something gritty and grainy crumbling at the back of her throat. Her tongue swipes across her teeth, only exacerbating the desert in her mouth. 

“You think my father did this?” Josie looks down at her lap, not answering. Hope seethes, standing up from her chair so suddenly that it falls behind her. Her words become jumbled and frantic. “You, you think—hold on. Is that why Snape is making us do this? Is he trying to...? How _dare_ he—“ 

Josie stands up, too. She places a placating hand on Hope’s upper arm. “Please, Hope, calm down.” 

The pureblood flinches back, scoffing. A pained wrinkle forms between Josie’s eyebrows. “Easy for you to say, huh?” 

She knows Josie is right. She knows her father isn’t innocent. She knows, knows, _knows_— 

Two arms wrap around her shoulders in a death grip, a brown head of hair buries itself into the crook of her neck, the scent of chocolate frogs and fruity shampoo drifts into her nose. 

“Get off of me,” Hope growls, but the tense set of her spine relaxes all the same. She lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes falling closed. “Get. _Off_.” 

Her voice isn’t as severe and threatening as she wants it to be, so she isn’t very surprised when Josie doesn’t listen. Instead, the girl’s hold becomes even tighter and Hope’s teeth unclench in return. She can’t remember the last time she had really hugged someone. Maybe Rose a couple of weeks ago? Or her teammates that last game they won? Or her mother during the summer? 

The pair stay like that for a minute or an hour, the pureblood can’t tell, and every aching muscle in her body seems to soften, every wrinkle and knot seems to smooth itself out. 

“Are you done now?” Hope asks at last, her voice suspiciously uneven. Josie nods slowly against her shoulder, letting go and stepping back. The pureblood hates it. 

This is what Hope wanted, this is what she had asked for—was it _not_?—yet she immediately feels the space between them like a stinging jinx to the chest. Her fingers twitch at her sides, mourning the lost chance to hug the other girl back. Why hadn’t she? 

“He probably didn’t mean—“ Josie tries to pacify her, but Hope has none of it. 

“That bastard,” she curses, balling her fists at her sides. The muggleborn noticeably winces, causing Hope to hurriedly unfurl them. Is Josie scared of her? 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her chin up, head straight, looking off to the distance. She blinks unseeing eyes. “I didn’t mean to overreact. Snape definitely isn’t telling us the whole story, though.” 

“It’s okay,” Josie tells her, looking like she wants to hug Hope again. She doesn’t. “This is our last night of detention. We don’t need to...” 

Think about this ever again? 

Her words fall away, possibly unsure of where she’s going with them or too sure. It doesn’t matter, though, because Hope interrupts her. 

“What if he’s hiding something? We should snoop through his stuff while he’s gone,” she says, snapping out of her own daze to glance around the room almost frantically. 

“I don’t know...” Josie trails off again, looking beyond skeptical. Hope knows just how to get her. 

“What if he has something about the prophecy in here?” she asks, instantly catching Josie’s curiosity. The brunette bites her bottom lip before nodding slowly. Hope knows it’s been bothering her for a long time. 

“Fine. Go ahead,” Josie says, a tad vexed. “But I’m not helping you.”

She pointedly walks to the exit, and raps her knuckles against the door. She smiles something pleased. “I’ll be on lookout.” 

Hope rolls her eyes, already making her own way to Snape’s precious desk. “Alright, tell me if he’s coming. Make a bird sound or something. Don’t be obvious.” 

If Josie responds, Hope doesn’t hear her. She scans Snape’s desk, which is mostly organized except for some stray quills and pieces of parchment paper. She begins to sort through the papers, finding nothing related to Tom Bradley or the prophecy. 

Most of the stuff on his desk retains to DADA lesson plans and a couple of handwritten potion recipes with altered instructions. She moves onto his drawers, pausing when she notices one of them locked. 

“Alohomora,” she whispers, waving her wand precisely. The lock promptly breaks, the drawer pushing open by itself, filled to the brim with papers and folders. The pureblood begins to sort through them, too. She then lingers on a dark green portfolio, filled with pictures of wedding locations and scribbled down wizard and muggle bands. 

_Oh_.

“What?”

Hope snaps her head up, not realizing that she had spoken out loud. Her eyes flicker back down to the folder. She gulps messily. 

Had Snape seen her propose yesterday? 

Why else would he care so much about weddings suddenly? 

Even if he had—which Hope can’t let herself think about for more than minute—why would he be trying to help her? 

Oh, Merlin. What if he tells her _father_? 

“What?” Josie repeats. “Did you find something?” 

“Not exactly,” Hope starts. She swallows, wondering if she should tell Josie. She thinks the brunette might kill her. “Just, uh, earlier, before you got here—that is—Snape...” 

Josie raises her eyebrows in amusement at the obvious reluctance Hope forms her words with. 

“Well, he mentioned weddings? To me?” She punctuates the statement—question?—with the photographs. 

Josie squints to see across the small distance before her face completely falls. 

“He did what?!” she basically screeches. Hope rubs a hand over her forehead. “He knows? You told him?!” 

“No!” Hope shakes her head desperately. “He must’ve seen us last night or something...” 

Josie pretends not to hear her, putting her head in her hands. Hope can barely hear her muted ranting. “Oh, God. You made him think he’s going to be the best man at our pretend wedding, didn’t you? That’s why Vector spent the entire day acting like my maid of honor! How many professors did you confide in? I’m going to _kill_ you, I will—“ 

Hope accidentally laughs, which only makes Josie that much more angry. 

“Stop,” she puts a hand up. Josie glares at her. “I didn’t tell anyone anything, but you couldn’t kill me if you tried—wait. Vector talked to you?” 

“Yeah,” Josie nods like it’s obvious. “She’s been following me around in the hallways since breakfast. She kept trying to make small talk about the symbolic nature of spring wedding dates.” 

Hope bites down her laughter. Josie only continues, a scowl on her face. “Did you know that it’s unlucky to get married in May?” 

It proves too much for the young pureblood, who bends over howling. Josie crosses her arms, decidedly unimpressed. She looks away with no small hint of exasperation, freezing slightly at what she sees. 

“Oh no,” she whispers, not completely getting Hope’s attention. She opens her mouth and lets loose what one person might call a bird noise and what someone else might call a dying dinosaur noise. 

Hope quickly bolts back to the desk at the signal, her laughter halting in her throat. She chokes on it as she flings open the previously locked drawer, messily stuffing the folder in it. 

She struggles, taking other papers out to make room for it. She stills slightly, her eyes glimpsing familiar words, but she isn’t sure why they’re familiar. 

“_When the sun rises, the end of peace will set_...” 

“What are you doing?” Josie hisses lowly, followed by another dying dinosaur sound. Hope’s ears ring painfully. 

“I think I found something,” she whisper-yells back, only for Josie to shush her. 

“Hurry!” 

Hope grabs for the paper carrying the familiar words in a rush. It consequently rips, so she shoves the ripped part into her pocket and flings the drawer closed, fixing the broken lock with a hurried swish of her wand. 

She sits back down in her seat just as the door opens. Josie flips a page nonchalantly next to her, pretending to be reading. Hope tries her hardest not to glare too visibly at the Defense professor as he comes in. 

When Snape asks them if they learned anything new, the pair admit to finding nothing at all. He dismisses them with a frown, the corners of his lips laced with suspicion. Hope continues to shoot daggers his way whenever he glances at Josie or isn’t directly looking at herself. 

“Did you not hear me?” Josie whispers heatedly once they’re out of the classroom. The ripped piece of paper in Hope’s pocket thrums with attention. 

“I’m pretty sure all of Hogwarts heard you,” Hope tells her, a small smirk on her face. “I said to make a bird sound, not to mimic a fucking pterodactyl.” 

“Whatever,” Josie huffs, a bit of pink across her cheeks. Hope stares before remembering herself. 

“Look what I got.” Hope pulls out the ripped piece of paper and waves it in the air cockily. Josie swipes it out of her hand, reading the words on it out loud. 

“_When the sun rises, the end of peace will set, and Merlin will stir with anger in the first hour of the morning_,” she says, her eyebrows knitted together. “_He will reign destruction on nature, turning the seas to ice and the forests to fire. Two will need to come together_—“ 

Josie pouts, flipping over the paper and examining it with a heavy amount of scrutiny. “There’s no more.” 

Hope shrugs. “I ripped it.” 

“Seriously?” 

“It was an accident.” 

An endeared smile flickers at an edge of Josie’s lips and she takes the time to re-read the words once again. Her smile falls into a frown of confusion. “Hey, isn’t this...?” 

“The prophecy Dumbledore swore was fake a couple weeks ago?” Hope finishes the girl’s sentence, nodding as they turn a corner into a different hallway. “I honestly completely forgot about it until now.” 

“Me, too,” Josie says. “Do you remember the rest of it?” 

“Not a single word,” Hope admits, trying to delve back within her mind to a month ago. She remembers seeing the brunette for the first time, she remembers getting cranky because she was hungry, she remembers losing her appetite minutes later...

Why had she lost her appetite? 

Something about everyone staring at her, maybe? Why had they been staring—

  
  
_Great Evil._

The words come back to her like a fever dream, distant and vanishing from her memory the more she thinks about it. 

“Actually,” Hope corrects herself, concrete sticking to her mouth. She can barely part her lips to get the words out. “It mentioned my father, I think.” 

Why does everything always come back to her dad? 

“I could be wrong,” she adds. She hopes she’s wrong. It looks like Josie hopes she is, too. 

They continue talking in silence. It’s not awkward, but contemplative, and Hope appreciates the space to ponder her thoughts as they approach the common room. 

Her chest fills with longing as they reach the entrance, not completely ready to separate from the other girl. The pair connect their eyes, knowing what they’ll both have to do. 

That they’ll have to act like there’s nothing between them. That Josie will head up to the dorms first, and Hope will follow moments later when her presence can no longer raise suspicion or draw someone’s attention. 

Josie murmurs the password—which had changed since Monday night, when Hope asked the snake in the portrait to choose a new one—pausing before she walks inside. 

She turns around to face Hope. 

“Do you want to maybe, I don’t know, meet in the library tomorrow night?” she asks, very shyly. She seems to blush, then, words coming out of her mouth quickly, “We can go over the prophecy or we can just—“ 

“Sure,” Hope agrees, cutting her off before she can start rambling. She relaxes her smile, not wanting to seem too eager either even though her heart is jumping at the prospect. “I have practice until nine, but after works fine.” 

“Great!” Josie beams, her full lips pulling Hope in. She thinks about kissing her, but perhaps the muggleborn won’t like that very much after what had happened during their time in the library. Sure, Hope had gotten a little carried away in the Divination section or whatever, but it seemed like Josie had liked it at the time. 

“Goodnight, Hope,” the brunette whispers, one foot inside the common room already. It is just Hope, when Josie leans in almost expectantly? Is it just Hope, when her thoughts wander into dangerous territory? 

“Goodnight,” is all she says. 

—

Hope wakes up in the morning, walking over to the bathroom with a yawn and one hand rubbing at her eyes. She had not slept very well, staying up to make sure she wouldn’t be kidnapped again, even though the common room password had since changed after Monday night’s events. 

She sleepily stands in front of the mirror, grabbing her toothbrush when she comes to a sudden halt. Hope immediately shuts the bathroom door with her foot, tugging at the hair crowding her face to get a better view of her neck. 

She parts her lips at the sight of two large hickeys bruised into one side of her throat, and maybe a dozen lipstick stains and smudges littering her entire neck. She swallows, unable to ignore the pang of arousal and the heat clawing at her insides. 

She shakes her head with something of a smirk flickering at her lips, fishing her wand from where it sits on the bathroom counter. She waves it over her skin repeatedly, but the bruises don’t fade away and the red lipstick stays. 

Hope’s smirk fades into a frown, and she tries a couple of glamour spells next, and then some cleaning charms. Nothing works, and she stands in front of the mirror for what must be at least thirty minutes with her wand digging into her throat.

Oh no. Had Snape seen her neck last night? 

A knock on the door distracts her, followed by Maya’s voice. “What the fuck, Mikaelson? We have a no-lock rule, open up.” 

“I’m taking a shit,” Hope yells back, hurriedly tugging on her uniform and trying to hike up the collar of her shirt to hide the marks. 

“I don’t care,” Maya tells her, “We’re almost late for breakfast. Thanks for waking me up, by the way.”

A pause.

“I’m being sarcastic, if you can’t tell through the door.” 

The pureblood ignores her. 

Finally, after coming to the realization that her collar won’t be enough to hide anything at all, Hope searches the room for something else. She finds a scarf hanging by the shower curtain, and she wraps it around her neck swiftly. 

She opens the door with a muttered incantation underneath her breath, washing her hands at the sink to make her earlier lie believable. 

“Woah,” Maya raises her eyebrows. “What’s with the scarf? We’re indoors, babe.” 

“I’m cold.” 

Maya peeks her head outside the door to check the window inside their room. She turns back around and gives Hope a weird look. 

“It’s the first sunny day we’ve had in weeks,” she deadpans. 

—

Hope sits down in Potions, the scarf still tightly wound around her neck. 

“Haha, very funny,” she whispers indignantly to Josie, who is already sitting down with an innocent smile on her face. “Now reverse whatever dark curse you’ve put me under.” 

“It’s a first-year charm.” Josie sifts through her book bag. “Figure it out yourself.” 

“I’ve tried every spell in the book, Saltzman,” she bites out, which makes Josie giggle. 

“Not every spell,” she says playfully, grabbing an ink jar from her bag and placing it on the desk. 

“Not every spell,” Hope imitates childishly, turning away from her and looking through her own bag. It appears that they’re taking notes today. 

By the end of the period, Hope still has a bunch of marks all over her neck, and Josie still hasn’t helped her at all. 

When the bell rings, the pair purposely take a while to pack up their stuff so that they can talk privately for a couple of moments, but a Slytherin boy lingering by the muggleborn’s side puts a stop to that plan rather quickly. 

“Please consider it,” he says, which makes Hope think that this isn’t the first time the muggleborn and him have talked. She nearly growls at him, but keeps her cool just enough to merely glare at him. “I can promise you a night of fun.” 

That makes the pureblood positively steam. What the hell does a night of fun mean? Does he want Hope to skin him alive? She thinks that would be a night of fun. 

“I’m sorry,” Josie says, actually sounding apologetic. Hope glares at her, too. “I’m already going with someone else.” 

The pureblood snaps her head up at that, a pit of jealousy throbbing in her abdomen like an empty stomach. Josie’s expression doesn’t falter despite Hope staring at her, and she even meets the boy’s eyes as his shoulders deflate. 

“Really? Who?” he asks, sounding quite bitter. Josie’s gaze flashes toward Hope, a pointed look on her face. The pureblood gulps audibly, understanding dawning on her with deafening speed—

Josie wants Hope to take her to the dance. 

Yet, she doesn’t understand how dangerous that would be. No. She doesn’t understand at all, and that’s exactly why Hope needs to protect her. 

The Mikaelson heir shakes her head almost imperceptibly, trying to communicate all the reasons why they can’t go to the ball together in that single movement of her head. 

Of course, Josie sees none of it. 

“Nevermind,” she murmurs, so unhappily that Hope’s insides fill with lead. The muggleborn then blushes, maybe with embarrassment or something else. She pushes in her chair and leaves before the boy can even think to chase after her. He and Hope stare after Josie with two separate looks, one full of confusion, one of yearning. 

The pureblood resists the urge to throw herself through the door to follow. It doesn’t work. She pushes passed the boy so viciously that he falls over and hits her arm against one of Slughorn’s cauldrons, but she doesn’t spare him a second glance. 

“Josie!” she calls, catching some attention from the students waiting outside the classroom for second-period Potions. If a couple of them turn to look at her weirdly, she doesn’t notice. No, she notices. She just doesn’t care. 

The muggleborn looks back, stopping long enough for Hope to pull her off to the side and away from the bustling students in the hallway. 

The two blend into the crowd seamlessly. 

“So you can ask me to marry you but you can’t take me to the ball?” Josie bites out, turning around again and disappearing into a group of students. The pureblood loses sight of her when one student accidentally collides with her. 

Hope angrily pushes the next person that bumps into her—a young Hufflepuff—unable to follow after a person she can’t see. 

—

Josie remains snappy and distant during Transfiguration and Arithmancy, either replying to Hope with terse, short responses or not saying anything at all. Hope only finds a reprieve in Herbology, where Professor Sprout strangely recites the properties and uses of peonies and daisies the entire period. 

To add, Landon keeps throwing her looks, and when she finally sends him a civil nod to stop him from trying to communicate with her, Ethan gives her a weird look. Sebastian, with his dark circles and greasy hair, notices not a thing. 

“You’re staring,” Rose informs her during lunch. Ever since that night in the Astronomy Tower, the pureblood has stopped putting up an act around her friend, and it seems that her friend has stopped doing the same. 

Of course, they haven’t talked about Hope’s affection for Josie directly, but it’s there. 

Hope drags her eyes away from the Gryffindor table slowly, a corner of her lips snapping down in annoyance. 

“I’m not,” she says, but her eyes find their way back to the Saltzman twin anyways. She catches herself and forces herself to focus on her food. 

“You _are_.” Rose doesn’t even look at her when she says it. “Quite obviously, in fact. You should stop before Penelope or someone else notices.” 

“Notices what?” Penelope plops down next to Rose, grabbing a goblet which magically fills up with pumpkin juice. 

“The fact that Hope’s wearing a scarf when it’s a hundred degrees out,” Rose improvises, bitting into her sandwich. The pureblood rolls her eyes at the exaggeration. 

“I’m cold,” Hope explains, for maybe the twentieth time that day, and Penelope shrugs. 

“She’s cold.” 

As Penelope starts eating and begins to drift away from their conversation to talk to Ethan, Rose pokes Hope with her elbow. The pureblood curses herself for getting caught staring again. 

“What’s wrong?” Rose asks, gesturing to Josie offhandedly with her knife. She then cuts her sandwich into smaller halves. 

“She’s mad at me,” Hope murmurs, willing Josie to turn and face her, to just look at the pureblood once and then Hope will be satisfied.

“Just give her a present or do something sweet to make up for whatever you did,” Rose says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“I didn’t do anything—“

“Ethan always brings me a slice of apple pie whenever he thinks I’m upset,” the other girl talks over her. “It never fails to make me smile.” 

Hope nods. 

During Defense, she doesn’t let it get to her when Josie chooses not to talk to her there either. She even asks if they’re still meeting in the library later, which the muggleborn also doesn’t reply to. She packs up all her stuff slowly, trying to make some room for both of them to talk, but Josie is the first one out of the door. 

Fine. If Josie wants to be like that, Hope will just have to resort to copying Ethan’s version of flirting. 

After practice, Hope jogs down to the kitchens and requests a chocolate croissant from her favorite house-elf Jinni. The elf has always been kind to Hope, and Hope has always tried to be kind in return. 

“No cake tonight, miss?” Jinni asks, her blue ears caving adorably around her face. She’s always been special, starting from her blue skin—where most elves Hope knows have green or pale pink skin—and ending with the fashionable rag she drapes over herself. 

“I...” Hope shakes her head. “No. Just the croissant, please.” 

Within a few minutes, a croissant magically appears on one of the kitchen counters, and Hope makes her way to the library, still in her quidditch uniform. 

Hopefully, Josie won’t stand her up this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i haven’t updated, i’ve been really busy with work and school, like crazy busy. i’ve also been really inactive on twitter, so i’ll try to respond to any messages tonight if i get the chance :) next chapter should be out soon, it’ll feature hope teaching josie how to fly 
> 
> Alohomora: breaks lock


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol

Hope stands in the Divination section of the library a couple of moments later, tapping her foot against the floor. 

It’s about a minute before the time the pureblood and Josie had agreed to meet here, and Hope can’t find her in the library at all. The pureblood is pretty sure that she’s the only person in here other than Madame Pince, who she had snuck past on her way in. She’s not completely sure that the library is even open, since most of the lights are turned off. 

The minute passes and there’s still no sign of Josie. An anxious knot double-ties itself into Hope’s stomach, and she wonders if she’s about to be stood up for a second time. 

It’s fine. She’ll wait five minutes, that’s all. She’ll wait, and if there’s still no sign of Josie, she’ll leave. It’s _fine_. 

Just as she sits down on the floor in resignation, she catches a glimpse of a familiar head of brown hair and pouty lips through the dim lighting of the aisle she’s in. She brightens immediately. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” Hope startles up, standing without realizing it. In fact, she doesn’t even notice that she did so until Josie puts a hand on her chest to stop her from coming forward. Hope then takes a step back, dread forming a vice-like grip around her heart. She holds up the chocolate croissant between them. 

Josie glances at the plate, but doesn’t take it. She only crosses her arms and stares down to the floor. 

“Yeah, well...” A corner of her lip snaps down, so swiftly that Hope almost misses it. Bile rises in the pureblood’s throat at her dismissive tone. “...The mud mark is important, and we still need to figure out what this prophecy is all about.” 

Before, the sight of Josie had made her so incredibly giddy and about ready to burst, but now her next words only destroy Hope’s mood so quickly that she feels sick to her stomach. Is that all the muggleborn cares about? Solving puzzles and mysteries like they’re ministry investigators? 

The blatant rejection settles into her skin like a burn. She turns away, feeling slightly—_incredibly_—hurt. 

“A-Alright,” Hope breathes, the exhale on her tongue too shaky. Her hand clenches around the plate in her hand, and yes, her fingers are too shaky as well. “I brought you a—nevermind.” 

She turns around and places the plate on an empty shelf nearby, wringing her hands nervously while her back is to Josie. When she summons the will to face her again, Josie isn’t even looking at her, instead skimming the spines of a couple of Divination books. 

It makes the pureblood very angry, indeed.

“No. You know what?” Hope storms up to her, teeth bared. Josie simply pushes a book back into its correct spot, appearing completely unfazed at the sudden change. It only infuriates the girl more. “Screw Snape’s little research project. Screw the prophecy. You’re _more_ important. You need to know that.” 

It gives the brunette pause enough that she looks Hope in the eye. Almost blankly. The pureblood nearly sighs. “I would love to be your date to the ball, but that can’t happen, okay? I’m not going, and it’s better that way. My family can’t find out about us, they can’t. They would hurt you, and then we can never be together. Do you understand now?” 

Josie nods impassively. Hope can barely interpret the expression on her face. “Okay.” 

“Did you bring the paper you found in Snape’s desk?” she then asks, completely ignoring everything Hope just said. 

The pureblood’s jaw visibly ticks. A scoff falls short of the tip of her tongue. “You’re unbelievable.” 

She stuffs her hand down the pocket in her quidditch robe, where the note she had been carrying all of practice resides. She pulls it out and throws it on the floor. “Here’s your fucking prophecy. Enjoy figuring out what it means by yourself.” 

The aisle is narrow enough that she has to move Josie somehow to pass her, which Hope ends up doing by bumping their shoulders roughly. The taller girl pulls her back before she can fully escape, and Hope snaps. 

She grabs the hand around her wrist and pins it above Josie’s head, her fingers wrapping around the brunette’s other arm tightly enough to get her point across. 

She had been on edge since the morning, since Josie had made the choice to ignore her the entire day without hearing her own side of the story. 

“Don’t—“ Hope cuts herself off when she notices that Josie is shaking, her chin down to her chest. The pureblood’s eyebrows knit together, and her grip becomes soft and gentle. “Oh. I-I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” 

Josie looks up, and Hope lets out a deep sigh that silently fills the space between them. Of course. The muggleborn had been shaking in laughter. 

“You’re insane,” Hope tells her, scowling. How is Josie finding all of this funny? 

“Sorry,” Josie giggles, leaning into Hope despite the fact that her arms are pinned. The sound of her laughter is contagious enough that Hope almost cracks a smile. “It’s just, you sound so _silly_. Even if you don’t take me to the ball, your dad will still see me.” 

Hope bristles. It’s not that simple. How can she not see that? “Well, I can hide you better this way.” 

Josie actually rolls her eyes, and Hope releases her, stepping back. However, Josie seems unwilling to allow for any distance at all, and she steps forward. 

“Don’t be like that,” the pureblood says. “If anything, he’ll seek you out. Your father tried to kill mine, if you can remember.” 

The muggleborn shrugs. “That was a long time ago. It was a misunderstanding. He thought he was a vampire.” 

“The second time, too?” Hope retorts, a bit amused. Her resolve to remain upset has almost completely fallen apart at this point. She can only be glad that the other girl appears to have forgiven her. 

Josie pinks. “So, what do you propose? Lizzie has already picked out a dress from Witch Weekly. My family is coming. I have to go, so I need to bring a date.” 

At the mention of Josie’s family, Hope’s heart stutters in her chest. She pretends not to notice the faster pace, coming up with any easy solution to the pair’s problem. “I will choose your date myself.” 

“You’re not serious,” Josie clips out, shooting her a dry look. Her lips form into a straight line, her eyes narrow. Hope only stares back at her indifferently. 

“I am,” she states, with a bit of detached arrogance. Inside, she’s roaring with laughter. “You will have my final decision by the morning.” 

Josie pulls out a book and hits her on the shoulder with it. “Oh, really?” 

She punctuates every word with another hit, but Hope doesn’t even crack a smile. 

“Have no doubt,” Hope tells her earnestly, with that same note of superiority. “I will compile only the best of suitors for you.” 

Josie tries to go for a last hit, but Hope grabs the book out of her hand and tugs her forward playfully. The muggleborn smiles something teasing as she falls into Hope’s arms. “Who, then, do you think is best-suited for me?” 

The pureblood’s smile sobers somewhat, her gaze turning sincere. Her next words come out a breath below a whisper. “Only I am suited for you, Josette.” 

Josie’s giggles fall away, and it’s almost impossible for Hope to miss the way her lips part, to miss the way the girl’s breath hitches. 

The pureblood takes it as an invitation, inclining her head just enough to touch Josie’s lips with her own softly. Stars break out in the blacks of her closed eyelids, and she nearly smiles against Josie’s mouth. 

The static from their lips brushing is something Hope still isn’t used to despite all the kisses they’ve shared, and her heart pounds viciously like this is the first time she’s ever experienced it. 

Hope reaches behind the girl’s shoulder to grab the edge of a shelf, tilting her head to connect their mouths more intently. 

Josie makes a soft noise against her lips, her hand burying itself into Hope’s quidditch robes and clutching onto them like her life depends on it. The touch warms the pureblood’s stomach, and she moves her lips insistently against Josie’s further, dragging her teeth along the brunette’s bottom lip and pulling lightly. 

The hold on her robes tightens, tugging Hope even closer, and she doesn’t hesitate before letting her own free hand wander. When their lips disconnect for need of oxygen, Hope skims her mouth against the muggleborn’s jaw, and then to the junction below. 

She leaves soft kisses along her throat, her lungs screaming for air, screaming for Josie. 

When they finally both catch their breath, she returns her previous attention to Josie’s mouth, swiping a tongue against her lip and then aggressively against Josie’s own. 

When the other girl moans against her, she catches the sound, swallows it, devours it, returns it. Her mouth yields once again to the attractive valley of Josie’s neck, careful not to leave marks but still pressing against the skin in a way that satisfies the both of them. 

The wood of the shelf stays strong in Hope’s unforgiving grasp, and her other hand moves direction, too, coming higher until she cups the swell of Josie’s breast, earning a loud gasp directly into her ear and a clutching hand within her hair. 

She smirks, but it falls of her face at the words Josie whispers next. 

“Then take me.” 

Hope’s mind blanks, and she pulls back a little at the seductive tone. Her mouth opens and closes about four times. 

Arousal sends a clenching path straight to her center. She groans out a low, weak sound. “Right now?” 

It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it—Merlin, it’s all her dreams consist of nowadays—but she didn’t know they were at that point yet. 

Well, she’s always wanted to have sex in a library...

Josie freezes, and it’s dark enough now that Hope can’t be completely sure if she’s blushing or not. Sometime during their make-out-slash-groping session, someone had turned off the remaining lights in the library. 

Hope hadn’t noticed until now, of course—it’s not like she had been kissing Josie with her eyes open. 

The muggleborn slowly unfurls Hope’s fingers from her chest, intertwining their hands sweetly. 

“I meant to the ball,” she murmurs quietly. Hope chokes. Her face loses all color. To make things worse, Jose then sniffs, wrinkling her nose. “Besides, you’re stinky.” 

Stinky? 

No, she’s not. She hadn’t even broken a sweat during quidditch practice. She is not..._stinky_. She. Isn’t. 

“Stinky?” Hope frowns a bit petulantly. She’s pretty sure the muggleborn is joking. Hope’s expression grows lewd. “Fine. Join me for a shower, then? Round two in the Prefects bathroom?” 

She raises her eyebrows suggestively, and Josie rolls her eyes, shaking her head with silent giggles. She disconnects their fingers pointedly. “You’re too much sometimes.” 

“Oh, I am?” Hope asks, smirking slightly. She raises her voice to the pitch of Josie’s, breathy and sensual. She mocks out, “Please, Hope, take me, I can’t resist you—“ 

Josie’s bark of laughter interrupts her from continuing, and Hope dissolves into her own bout of chuckles. When she calms down a few moments later, she finds that the brunette is staring at her very peculiarly. 

“How do you do this?” she asks Hope. The pureblood cocks her head to the side. 

“Do what?” Her tongue suddenly feels too big in her mouth. She wonders if she’s done something wrong again. 

Josie’s brows draw together thoughtfully. Her gaze unnerves the pureblood. “Make me so mad, and then—_this_.” 

She laughs something wet, a smile glistens across her lips. “It’s like you leave me no choice but to forgive you. Every time.” 

Hope’s chest suddenly grows impossibly tight. She even almost brings a hand up to check if her heart is still beating, before she drops the limb back to her side. Yes, of course, it’s beating. She can hear it thudding thickly in her ears. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, a bit miserably. She’s messed up so many times, yet Josie keeps coming back to her, and for what? For Hope to mess up _again_? 

Josie’s hand finds her again, and she squeezes Hope’s knuckles reassuringly. 

The pureblood’s lips rub together in another apology, but the words get stuck in her throat. She manages. “It has never been my intention to hurt you.” 

“And I know we’ve skipped some steps,” she continues, biting her bottom lip hesitantly. She wonders if now would be a good time to...

Hope sets her jaw. She makes a decision rather quickly. “But I want to do this right. Like a...” 

She searches for the right words. She does not find them. “...Like a proper courtship.” 

The pureblood immediately regrets it, because Josie starts giggling again. Curse her emotional, old-fashioned, Uncle-Elijah talk. 

“Stop,” Hope whines, blushing a little around her cheeks. Thank Merlin it’s too dark for Josie to see it. 

Still, Josie does not stop laughing. Her breath comes in small pants of air, puffing against Hope’s lips, and the pureblood inhales it all greedily. She has the quick thought to shut Josie up by kissing her—because it was something that had consumed her thoughts the entire time the muggleborn had been ignoring her today—and leans in to do just when a stern voice sounds from right next to them. 

“What are you two doing?!” 

Hope jumps back immediately, Josie collapsing against the shelf behind her without the pureblood to balance her, and they both whip their heads to the woman tapping her foot impatiently nearby.

“Madame Pince!” Josie fixes her shirt, which is inconveniently ruffled. Hope’s eyes linger low before she remembers herself. “I was just checking out the books.” 

“I as well.” Hope runs a hand through her hair, looking at Josie with surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed her before. “Fancy seeing you here, Saltzman.” 

“All the same,” Josie says, glancing at Pince. “It was so dark I didn’t notice another person here. I’m so sorry for bumping into you.” 

Right. That’s what happened. They bumped into each other. Nothing else. Josie curtsies dramatically, a playful look in her eye that glints in the dim lighting. Pince watches with narrowed eyes. 

“The apology is all mine,” Hope murmurs, her mouth dry like cotton balls. “Rest assured, I shall be on my way. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” Josie tells her, and their eyes meet for too long underneath Pince’s suspicious gaze. Hope actually doesn’t care. She doesn’t care that she caught them. She doesn’t care that they hadn’t been mean to each other in the woman’s presence either. 

The pureblood nods politely at Pince as she passes her. She smiles as she hears Josie start to babble when the librarian tiredly informs her that it’s past curfew. 

“Right, sorry! Bye, Madame Pince! I guess I should be going, too. Oh—I almost forgot my croissant...” 

Hope leaves, absentmindedly thinking that they hadn’t even researched anything about the prophecy or Tom Bradley’s disappearance. 

—

The pureblood sits in Arithmancy the next day, indiscreetly sending glances to her partner as Professor Vector works through some equations. 

Hope has had about enough of the equations, if she’s being honest. She just wants to stare at Josie all period, and all the work is getting in the way of that. 

“_Stop staring_,” Josie sing-songs through clenched teeth, writing a number and its notation down with her quill. Vector shushes them from the front of the room. 

Hope sighs, murmuring a copycat spell as she writes a sentence down in the corner of her parchment paper. With a tap of her wand, it reappears on Josie’s own.

** I can’t help myself.  **

The muggleborn snaps her head over, hurriedly smudging her hand over the words, but her shoulders deflate as she can’t seem to erase them. She quickly realizes that only the caster of the spell can, and she glares at the shorter girl. 

Hope raises her eyebrows pointedly and Josie gets the clue, writing down a response that materializes on Hope’s paper. 

_ You’re messing up my notes.  _

A pause.

_ :( _

Hope rolls her eyes. She can practically see the pout in that sentence. She tilts her head, trying to figure out what to write next. 

** How’s your day?  **

Josie ignores her. 

** Are you angry with me?  **

No response. 

** Nerd. **

Nothing. 

**It won’t do well to ignore me, darling.**

Hope looks over to where Vector is still lecturing before making a decision. She begins to draw a humongous, detailed dick in the corner of her paper. It mirrors right onto Josie’s. 

It takes a second for the muggleborn to notice it, but when she does, she gasps audibly. She makes a weird noise as some students begin to stare at her, clamping a hand over the offending doodle with wide eyes.

Vector even cocks her head at the girl in confusion, but she shortly resumes the equation the class is working on, and Hope looks back to her own paper to see several question marks in Josie’s handwriting. 

A second later: 

_ Make that disappear right now!  _

** Ooh, an exclamation mark. I’m so scared.  **

Once again, Josie doesn’t write back, resolutely setting her shoulders straight. Hope frowns. 

** Please. I’m bored.  **

Finally, that gets a response. 

_ We’re in the middle of class, can’t this wait?  _

** You’re so cute when you’re studious.  **

Not a single emotion flickers on Josie’s face. Hope deliberates over her next response for not a moment too long. 

** Do you have a dirty school girl kink, by any chance?  **

The words had not been very easy or tasteful to write down, but Josie’s reaction makes it all the while. She blushes deep red and crosses Hope’s words out until half of her parchment is a black blob of ink. 

She then fixes her gaze on Professor Vector, most definitely doing her best to pretend Hope doesn’t exist. The pureblood snickers silently, reaching for her quill again. 

** What did I say about ignoring me?  **

Josie glances down, and Hope watches as she reads the words, she watches as they register. Then, the girl’s throat bobs delicately, and the pureblood tracks the motion with hungry eyes. She hangs onto it like a leech in blood. 

_ Fine. What do you want?  _

Hope smirks. 

** You. **

Josie glares. 

_ No.  _

** Whatever.  **

Hope’s eyebrows knit together, and she wavers with the quill in her hand. She wants to ask Josie if she would like to meet in the library again tonight, but she doesn’t want Pince to interrupt them again, and she doesn’t really want to research the prophecy. She just wants to spend time with the other girl. On a date. Like they’re _normal_. Like they’re not two teenagers sneaking around from the world. 

In her best handwriting, she writes:

** Would you like to hang out Friday night?  **

Is that straightforward enough? What if Josie gets the wrong idea and thinks that she wants to spend Friday night reading in the library? She bites the inside of her cheek, adding:

** To be clear, I’m asking you on a date.  **

Hope stares at the other girl intently as she bites on the end of her quill, peering at the pureblood’s words with an unreadable expression. Hope almost takes the request back. 

_ Sure. _

Then—

_ Where?  _

Hope tries her hardest not to smile. Her mind buzzes as she tries to form her thoughts around date plans. She hadn’t thought she’d get this far. 

** Meet me at the entrance below the great hall before dinner. I’ll be standing in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit. You can’t miss it.  **

Josie squints her eyes as if committing the location to memory, scribbling:

_ Okay.  _

The muggleborn then resumes her previous attention to Vector. Hope grins, glancing at the girl once more before turning her own attention to the Arithmancy professor. 

With a satisfied swish of her wand, any trace of the pair’s nonverbal conversation vanishes from their respective papers. 

—

Thursday afternoon, Hope sits in the common room with her friends, a letter from her parents in her hand. She had been carrying it on her since breakfast, but her and Rose had decided that they would open their letters after classes, since the other girl had also received one back. 

Still, they’ve been in the common room for about an hour, and neither of them have read their letters yet. Both are scared of the potential responses, and while Rose might have some idea of where Hope’s fear lies, the pureblood has no idea what Rose is so afraid of herself. 

She doesn’t even know the original contents of Rose’s own letter. The girl still hasn’t told Hope what has her biting her nails and adjusting her tie every minute. 

“Okay, so she hasn’t said yes to anyone,” Maya says by the fireplace, talking to Penelope. They both look like they’re conspiring over some deeply-analyzed hypothesis. Rose and Hope look at each other exasperatedly. “But she also hasn’t said no.” 

“You don’t have a chance,” Penelope tells Maya. “It’s only a matter of time before Saltzman agrees to go with me. She was practically swooning from my natural charm in Transfiguration.” 

Hope rolls her eyes. So, that was what Penelope had been doing in McGonagall’s class? She had been wondering why the girl kept coming over and trying to make conversation with Hope. She offhandedly remembers that Penelope hadn’t even talked to Josie once. What a fucking liar. 

“You didn’t see her in Defense,” Maya remarks, flipping her hair. “She was staring at me the whole time.” 

Hope seethes. That’s not what had happened. Right? No. She’s sure. Josie hadn’t looked at Maya once. 

That makes two liars. 

“I don’t understand,” Rose whispers to her as the two girls continue arguing over who Josie likes more. “Why are they fighting over Saltzman? I know she’s the only muggleborn in Slytherin, but one would think that they’d care more about blood status than house rivalry. Wouldn’t bringing a halfblood to the ball suit their interests better than bringing a muggleborn?” 

“Rose.” Hope tilts her head, sucking in a breath as she looks over at the pair in question. “It’s all the same to them. They believe that both are..._undeserving_ of their magic—“ 

“—But they ostracized Sebastian over the same thing! Haven’t you noticed? He doesn’t show up to meals anymore, barely to any of his classes, might I mention,” Rose interjects, heatedly. Penelope and Maya glance over, but they don’t appear to have heard anything important. They quickly turn back and begin arguing again. 

“He’s a _ghost_,” Rose finishes. “It doesn’t seem fair. Not to him, not to...” 

She smartly decides not to complete her sentence, only staring into Hope’s eyes intently. 

“We shouldn’t be talking about this...” Hope looks away, the emotion too much for her. She glances back down to the parchment in her hand. “Why don’t we open our letters?”

She fingers the wax seal hesitantly. Rose opens her mouth like she wants to say more, but she ultimately decides against it. She nervously picks at her own envelope, an anxious smile touching her lips. “Together?” 

“Together,” Hope agrees, and both of them remove the seals and unfold their letters.If they hold their breaths, neither of them mention it. 

_ Dear Hope, _

_ I am glad to hear that you have returned to full health.  _

_ About the ball, do not be so absurd. Our designer has already fitted your mother and I for our evening robes, and you will be happy to know that your uncles and aunts shall be making an appearance as well.  _

_ Besides, a Mikaelson never passes an opportunity to socialize. You should know better than to presume you can so easily avoid such an event. Furthermore, Malivore Clarke has taken an interest in you. I have arranged a meeting between you and him the night of the ball. You will hear what he has to say, if I have taught you anything at all.  _

_ See you then, _

_ Niklaus Mikaelson _

In short—

Shit. 

Hope blinks, almost in a daze. But really, what had she been expecting? For her father to listen to her? For her father to submit to her desires for once in her damn life? 

Further, not only are her parents coming, but also her uncles and aunts. Merlin, if her uncle Kol comes, she thinks that there might be a blood bath. She can’t trust that he’ll act according to his best behavior, but if anything her family can do, it’s _pretend_. 

Hopefully, that small blessing will be enough for the ball. _Hopefully_, Hope might be able to distract her family long enough for the night to end before they notice Josie or her own family. 

Worst of all, possibly, is that Hope now needs a date. A non-pureblood date. Just yesterday, she had been pushing Josie in the opposite direction, and it has all come back to thoroughly bite her in the ass. 

It’s no matter, though. She’ll just ask someone she doesn’t care about out, so if her family does anything to them, it won’t hurt her. Who is she kidding? 

If her family decides to pull any stunts at the ball at all, she might literally implode. She can already feel her magic collecting restlessly underneath her skin, pulsing to be released from her veins and into the air around her. 

But would her family really do that? They’ve had to cover up many incidents along the years, and she doubts her family would try to add onto that—in public, either. 

After the scandal with her father being suspected of murder several years ago, they’ve been lying pretty low for purebloods with high social standing. Her father’s job in the ministry has helped plenty with that, so she just needs to keep an eye on all of her relatives during the ball. 

No. She doesn’t need to worry. Her father won’t try anything, especially not at Hogwarts. The school is a safe zone for everyone inside of it, and no one has ever tried to disrupt the sanctity of it. Niklaus Mikaelson will not be the first. Surely. 

_Yes_. Everything will be fine. Her family has too much power and restraint to do anything at all the ball. Everything will be great. Maybe not everything with Malivore Clarke, though. 

What the hell does he want with Hope? Has her appeasements to him and her father not been enough along the years? Hope resolves to just talk to Ryan Clarke later, turning back to Rose just as the girl drops her letter in her lap with shaking fingers. 

Hope doesn’t immediately notice. 

“Unsurprisingly enough,” the pureblood drawls, “my father has chose to decline my proposal to abstain from the ball entirely.” 

“Fuck,” she curses, mostly to herself, losing all sense of formality. Her thoughts return to the idea that plagues her most about attending the ball. “I have to bring a date.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Rose nodding almost distractedly, her own eyes on her lap. 

“Nevermind my letter. What did yours say?” Hope asks obliviously. Rose suddenly stands, her letter falling to the floor. She frantically picks it up, and Hope hears her stammer out a string of nonsensical words before she flees the common room. 

She narrows her eyes after her, only snapping from her stupor when Penelope stands from where she had been sitting next to Maya in front of the fireplace. 

Hope holds up a hand to stop the girl from chasing after Rose. 

“I got it,” she breathes, ignoring Penelope and Maya’s shared look of concern as she follows Rose out of the common room. She finds her in a nearby, empty corridor. 

“Nicot!” she calls, but the girl doesn’t turn around. She sighs. “_Rose_!” 

Rose turns around with something that sounds suspiciously like a sob. When Hope’s eyes skim over her face, she finds it tear-tracked and wet. 

“What’s wrong?” Hope asks, the pace of her heart quickening. She steps forward, only for Rose to step back. The girl wipes angrily at her eyes. 

“Nothing,” she says, but the letter in her hand says otherwise, crumpled in a tight fist. The harsh grip stretches the skin of her knuckles white and angry. 

“Clearly not,” the pureblood mutters, looking her up and down pointedly. Is it the air or Hope’s lungs, when she suddenly can’t breathe? “You can tell me anything.” 

“No,” Rose laughs wetly, ringing sharp in her ears. “I don’t think I can.”

Hope furrows her eyebrows. Why can’t she? The pureblood had revealed a lot to the girl in the past week, what is the difference now? 

“You can try,” Hope tells her. She gestures to the paper still clutched in Rose’s hand. 

“Is it the letter? What did your parents say?” she implores, with no small hint of confusion. She has the awful thought that the sight of Rose Nicot crying is one of the worst images she has ever had the absolute misery of witnessing. 

“My dad didn’t respond. This was my mom,” Rose unwrinkles her letter, her shoulders relaxing in defeat. Her next words make Hope freeze. “She’s leaving us.” 

“What do you mean?” Hope breathes. 

Rose steels her gaze, looking somewhere passed the pureblood’s shoulder. 

“_She’s. Leaving. Us_.” 

“Rose.” Hope swallows thickly. 

“No.” Rose shakes her head. Her eyes become a bit glassy, and she looks to the ceiling to blink back tears. “I’ve said too much.” 

Hope shakes her own head. 

“I would argue not enough,” she insists. “I swear, you can tell me.” 

“No,” Rose repeats. “I can’t. You’ll hate me.” 

“I could never hate you,” Hope tries, but the words crack at the very edges. The girl across from her seems to observe her very carefully. She searches Hope’s eyes for something, then seems to find it. 

“You will,” she tells Hope. “I think, I think all our friends will, too.” 

She sucks in a breath, bringing a hand to her chest. “How am I supposed to tell them? How am I supposed to tell Ethan, how am I supposed to tell Pen—“ 

“Tell them what, Rose?” 

Rose laughs like glass. 

“My mom had an affair with a muggle,” she says. “My dad hid it from the world because he didn’t want to tarnish our reputation. But my mom told me, before school started. She said that my father isn’t _my_ father. That, my real dad is a muggle.” 

Hope’s lips part in surprise. Her eyes unfocus as she takes the information in. 

“And now,” Rose continues. “Now she’s leaving us. She claims that she can’t hide this part of her for any longer.” 

“Tell me.” Hope snaps her gaze back up to Rose’s. “Do you hate me now?” 

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Does this change things? No, Hope realizes, this doesn’t change anything at all. Rose Nicot is still the girl that had been the first to support Hope when she was picked as quidditch captain, she’s still the girl that had snuck her chocolate cake from the kitchens during the stress of second year, she’s still the girl that had forced Hope to study for her OWLs fifth year when the pureblood had all but given up. 

How can she hate Rose when she has spent her week snogging a muggleborn and confessing her love to that muggleborn? How can Rose suggest such a thing when she knows of Hope’s affair? 

The answer is, she doesn’t hate Rose. 

“Of course not,” Hope tells her, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Listen, Nicot, I don’t care that you’re a halfblood anymore than I care about your obsession with apple pie...” 

She trails off with a yelp as Rose storms up to her and throws two arms over her shoulders, thoroughly suffocating her. Hope hugs her back with a small chuckle. 

When they separate, Hope smirks slightly. 

“Hey, so if you’re not a pureblood, can I take you to the ball?” 

Rose smacks her. 

—

On Friday, Professor McGonagall has her class transfiguring different blocks of materials into their own sculptures. Hope works on her own sculpture diligently, waving her wand with precise movements as almost every single student around her does the same. 

Almost. 

Josie Saltzman stands in front of her own block, her wand on her desk as she stares at the sculpture she has yet to start. Ten minutes into the period, Hope has already transfigured the cotton material of her block into white obsidian. 

The pureblood sends a peek at Josie’s block, which is still the wooden material McGonagall had set in front of her. She switches her gaze to Penelope across from her, who is sculpting her own block into the unimaginative statue of a green snake. Hope rolls her eyes.

“What are you doing?” Josie whispers next to her, as Hope begins spiking the back of her statue with a lighter white color. The pureblood pauses slightly. 

“Why are you asking?” She smiles slyly. “Are you going to copy me if I tell you?” 

Josie pinks. “What? No!” 

“Use your imagination,” Hope tells her simply, which has Josie growing a different kind of red. She glares into the side of the pureblood’s head with the intensity of heat vision. 

“I am!” Josie hisses, looking properly ticked off. “I just need an idea!” 

“Oh?” Hope tsks. “Uncreative _and_ desperate? Don’t let McGonagall know.” 

Josie clenches her teeth, giving Hope an angry look. The pureblood ignores her, focusing on the memory of the ghost of a dragon flying around in her mind. She waves her wand and adds a jagged tail to her sculpture, smirking with satisfaction. 

She can almost clearly visualize the head of the dragon now, she just needs to get the eyes right. 

Josie continues to struggle next to her thirty minutes later, and when Hope glances over she finds the muggleborn sculpting quite the unflattering version of a tree. 

“Wow,” she says—completely shocked—before she can stop herself. Josie beams. 

“You like it?” 

Hope laughs before she can stop herself, too. 

“Looks great,” she lies, adding the finishing touches to her dragon just as McGonagall begins walking around the room. 

“Very impressive, indeed, Miss Mikaelson,” the Transfiguration professor comments, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Josie whirls her head to look at Hope’s sculpture, her own eyebrows reaching her hairline. 

McGonagall then looks at Josie’s block and hums with deep contemplation. “Huh. Uninspired.” 

She then continues walking around the room, leaving a stunned and vaguely offended Saltzman twin behind in her wake. 

“Uninspired?!” Josie glares at Hope, maybe realizing that the girl had lied to her before. “How is this uninspired?” 

“You made a tree out of wood,” Hope tells her with a straight face. She furrows her eyebrows. “Is that a serious question?” 

Josie pouts and looks away, back to her sculpture. She stares at it with no small amount of sadness. Hope points her wand and murmurs a quiet spell, watching as a sentence engraves itself into the wood. 

** Are we still on for tonight?  **

In a flash, Josie flicks her wand at Hope’s sculpture, and a burst of fire flares right into Hope’s face from the dragon’s mouth. She can barely make out the word the hot flames form:

_ Yes. _

Hope rubs her eyes, coughing slightly as she glowers at the other girl. Josie stares back innocently. 

“What?” 

“You nearly singed off my eyebrows!” Hope yells, attracting the entire class’ attention. 

“You called my sculpture boring when yours isn’t even all that great!” 

“I did no such thing! And hey!” 

McGonagall narrows her eyes at the pair, and Josie smartly decides not to reply to Hope’s retort. The pureblood reaches over and runs a soothing hand along the length of the dragon’s back, despite the fact that the dragon is inanimate and can’t feel a thing. 

“There, there,” she consoles, “ignore her, baby.” 

“Excuse me?” Josie whispers next to her, and Hope smirks at her. The smirk drops when Josie twirls her wand in her fingers. The pureblood swallows. 

“I thought you would appreciate my sculpture more,” Hope tells her, the corners of her lips turning down. “I had you in mind.” 

Josie blushes, turning away with an expression the pureblood can’t read. 

—

Josie’s back hits the wall of the supply closet with a stifled moan that sounds a bit like Hope’s name. It hasn’t even been a minute since the muggleborn hauled Hope’s ass into the closet after Transfiguration ended, and she can’t keep her hands off of her. 

“We’re going to be late for class—oh, _god_—“ 

“You’re the one that dragged me in here,” Hope smirks against her neck, planting another open-mouthed kiss down her collarbone. The pureblood thinks that’s what she likes most about wearing muggle clothes on Fridays: easy access. 

Hope then drags her tongue in a long line along the flesh of Josie’s throat. The girl squirms against her, their hips pressed deliciously together. 

A second later, Hope steps away completely, her eyes ravishing the brunette across from her with zero subtlety. Josie’s own eyes flutter open in confusion. 

“Why’d you stop?” She pouts, her head flat against the wall, breathing heavily. 

“I thought you wanted me to,” Hope tells her, her eyes darkening as she looks at the flush from Josie’s neck all the way to her cheeks. Josie recovers quickly enough, stepping forward to close the distance and locking her wrists behind Hope’s head. 

“Don’t think ever again,” she says. 

“That’s kind of difficult—“ 

Josie shuts her up by connecting their lips once more. Hope chuckles against her mouth, but her laughter stops when Josie’s tongue slips between her parted lips and coaxes a gentle groan out of her. 

A part of Hope wants to tease the girl, a part of her wants to make Josie beg her not to stop, but the feeling of Josie’s lips on hers distracts the pureblood enough to forget all about that side of her. 

“You’re hot when you’re angry,” Josie murmurs softly into her ear when they pull apart, dragging Hope’s earlobe between her lips and scraping her teeth along it. Hope shudders, moving her hand along the small of Josie’s lower back, drawing her even closer. 

The pureblood sighs into the fog of lust around them, praying to Merlin in a bid to let them stay like this forever. Merlin does not listen, and the warning bell for next period rings, effectively tugging them out of thetrance. 

“Come on!” a male voice sounds from outside the closet. Hope peeks through the door and finds a sixth year in Gryffindor robes. He laces his words with innuendo. “I can show you a good time.” 

Another voice, this time female and familiar: Elizabeth Saltzman. “I’d rather have wrinkly-old _Dumbledore_ show me a good time, now get away from me, you—“ 

“Lizzie?” Josie throws herself out of the door before her sister can finish her sentence, but Hope chooses to stay inside the closet. 

“Oh, hey, sis,” the blonde says. “Sorry, Chewbacca was just leaving, weren’t you?” 

Chewbacca? Hope frowns.

The boy that had been pestering the twin mumbles and Hope watches him leave through the crack in the door. Elizabeth calls after him. “One piece of advice, shave off that disgusting excuse for a beard if you want any girl to take you seriously when you ask them out!” 

The boy mumbles something inaudible quickens his walking pace into a scared jog. 

“Purebloods don’t know what to do with themselves now,” Elizabeth shakes her head, and the two sisters share a laugh. Hope scrunches up her nose from behind the door. It really isn’t that funny. 

“I thought MG was taking you to the ball?” Josie mentions, when they collect themselves. Hope sighs, resigning herself to the fact that she’ll be late to her next class. 

“About that....” Elizabeth trails off. “I haven’t given him a straight answer.” 

“Please don’t tell me that you’re waiting for Sebastian to ask you.” Hope perks up from within the closet. Hmm. She might just have to tell Sebastian go for it. 

“What about Wee Willie Winkie?” Elizabeth deflects. 

Who the fuck is that? 

“Landon?” Hope’s heart gives a weak thud in her chest. Had Landon asked Josie to the ball? What the fuck? What the fucking— “I haven’t given him a straight answer either.” 

“Hmm.” Their voices begin to fade slightly, so Hope thinks that they’re probably walking away at this point. “So, what are we doing in the cat lady’s class? We better not be transfiguring cold water into hot water again, that was so lame...” 

Hope slips out of the closet as the final bell rings. Great. She’s late for Charms. 

—

“Let me get this right,” Penelope starts, later that day, her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re cancelling practice because you think we deserve a break?” 

“Exactly,” Hope nods, “thank you for understanding—“ 

All at once, her entire team begins to laugh so hard she thinks their eyes might bulge out and fall to the floor. She gives them time to recover from their obvious bout of insanity, glaring silently at them until they straighten up again. 

“I’m sorry,” Penelope says, clutching at her stomach. “Just last week, it took an entire day of Maya and I begging you to cancel practice, and now you’re doing it the night before a game because you feel like it?” 

“Yup,” she tells her, not offering another explanation. She makes eye contact with Rose, trying to convey her reason without saying anything. Hope needs to get going now if she doesn’t want to be late for her date with Josie. She hadn’t spent all night dreaming about it—all day thinking about it—for nothing. 

“She’s right,” Rose cuts in. Penelope lights up, thinking that Rose is defending her. “_Hope_, I mean...” 

Penelope deflates. 

“We’ve been working hard all week, under my supervision as team leader—“ 

Hope shoots her a look. “Get your head out of your ass, Nicot. You were captain for two days.” 

“—and the best quidditch captain in Slytherin house history, I agree with team member—“ 

“Team captain,” Hope corrects. Of course the title had gone to the girl’s head. 

“Team member,” Rose reiterates, “Hope Mikaelson. Dismissed.” 

“No, not dismissed,” Hope sends her another dirty look. “_I_ dismiss you. Not Nicot. Anyways, goodnight, drink lots of water. Dismissed.” 

The second her team disperses from the common room, she all but flees down to the level below the great hall. The entrance isn’t very secret or well-hidden, but not a lot of people know about it. 

Hope finds the large painting of a fruit bowl very quickly, leaning against the wall with her hands in the pocket of her hoodie as she waits for Josie to join her. 

The muggleborn appears at the entrance a couple of minutes later, hugging herself with her arms almost shyly. Inadvertently, her eyes move along Josie’s body, taking in her cute, black skirt and her simple, pink blouse. 

It seems that the brunette has changed into different clothes than she had been wearing during classes. Hope herself is still wearing the same-old muggle clothes she had bought a long time ago—the hoodie and skinny jeans combo, with a school-issued grey shirt underneath. 

“Hey,” Hope kicks off the wall, sounding a little winded. Would it be too much to greet Josie with a kiss? It’s been getting harder to keep her lips away from the girl ever since she had first kissed her. “Well...” 

Josie smiles, letting go of the grip on her elbows. Her hands fall to her sides. 

“You look as pretty as always,” Hope admits with breathtaking sincerity, her gaze opening slightly. If her voice sounds thicker than usual, she doesn’t realize it. 

“Thank you,” the muggleborn tells her, eyes bright. 

Hope holds out her hand, valiantly trying to fight off the beam on her own face. “Hungry?” 

Josie tilts her head, but nods all the same. “A little,” she confesses, taking Hope’s outstretched hand. The contact makes the pureblood’s skin buzz delightfully. 

Hope smirks, gesturing with her head to the painting. “Tickle the pear.” 

Josie’s thumb brushes her own in question, her eyes flitting to the pear in the fruit bowl. “Tickle it?” 

Hope nods, completely serious. She reaches out with her other hand, as if to tickle Josie’s side. “Do you need a demonstration?” 

“No,” Josie says, very, very quickly, catching Hope’s fingers with her own. The pureblood grins, wondering if it’s because the girl’s ticklish or something else. 

Josie drops one of her hands to skim her fingers along the painting, rubbing a little awkwardly against the pear. Within the next second, a green, pear-colored handle pops out and swings toward Josie, who squeaks and flinches so swiftly she brings Hope with her. 

They both stumble around the handle, and Hope laughs as Josie’s face scorches red. The muggleborn mumbles an apology and snaps her hand out to turn the handle, opening the painting as if it’s a door. 

The entrance gives away to the kitchens of Hogwarts, the delicious scent of mouth-watering food and dessert drifting into both girls’ noses. Hope motions for Josie to go through first, closing the painting behind them. 

She nearly runs into the brunette when Josie unexpectedly freezes. She places her hands on her hips to prevent that from happening, removing them when Josie whirls around in her grasp. 

“_House-elves_ make all the food?” she asks, her voice sounding very angry, indeed. Hope gulps. 

“They like doing it?” Hope tells her, but her tone uplifts like a question. She inwardly groans. 

“Just like how muggleborns love being inferior?” Josie crosses her arms. 

“Okay,” Hope placates her, making eye contact with Jinni from a nearby table. “No one has ever said that.” 

“Are you serious right now?!” 

“Jinni!” she calls—for help—and the blue house-elf snaps her fingers and apparates across the room to the pair. A couple of other elves turn to look, but continue cooking. “You like working, don’t you?” 

“Miss Mikaelson!” Jinni greets, bowing her head slightly. The act of submission only infuriates Josie further. “Of course Jinni does!” 

She glances over at the muggleborn a little wearily, possibly put off by the harsh expression on her face. “Oh, and who is Miss Mikaelson’s friend?” 

“This is Josette Saltzman,” Hope introduces gallantly, deeply hoping that Jinni will like the muggleborn. 

“Hi, Jinni,” Josie smiles, not unkindly, but the corners of her lips are still tight. “Er, wouldn’t you rather be free?” 

“Free?” The kitchens go dead silent, as if sensing the word, every elf in the room stares at the muggleborn in shock, some even with disgust. 

“_Free_?” Jinni squeaks out again with a shake of her head, but her eyes fog over as if remembering a distant memory or wish. She comes to a moment later, quick and sudden, like a candle blown out. Her next words are delicately clipped. “No, Jinni would never dream of that, Miss Saltzman.” 

Josie narrows her eyes but doesn’t add anything, and guilt stirs in Hope’s abdomen much like the tomato soup she can still distantly smell from when she first walked in. This time, it nauseates her instead of making her mouth water. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” the brunette apologizes, a bit hesitantly, and Jinni vehemently shakes her head. 

“Miss did no such thing,” she reassures, leading them over to a small table, where a few pots are simmering with steam. “What can Jinni help you with?” 

“Do you think you can prepare us some dinner?” Hope asks, and the meaningful look Josie gives her tells the pureblood that she thinks the request was a little inconsiderate. 

However, Jinni nods and nearly jumps with excitement, disappearing without asking them what they’d like to eat. It’s no matter, though, since Hope had come hours earlier to notify Jinni of her plan to visit. 

She pulls out a chair for Josie and sits next to her as they wait. She interprets the worried expression on the brunette’s face incorrectly. “Don’t worry.” Hope smirks. “I told her that you’re a vegetarian.” 

“Don’t you feel bad?” Josie blurts, wringing her hands in her lap. She gestures to the elves working around them. “They’ve been brainwashed into believing that they actually enjoy serving us.” 

“What do you suggest?” Hope asks, a little obstinately.“That we throw the lot of them underneath the sorting hat and enroll them in classes? I bet Jinni would sort Ravenclaw.” 

Josie nods. Hope raises her eyebrows. She had been kidding. “They have magic of their own. Why not?” 

“Look, Josie,” she leans in, unconsciously searching for the taller girl’s fingers. She pulls their hands onto her own lap. “They prefer stuff like this. When I was younger, I tried freeing one of my elves at the manor to cross my father, and she cried for an hour until I took it back. They—“ 

“You have elves?!”

Hope winces when Josie tugs her hand away, leaning back. “Did I say elves? I meant elbows. I have two.” 

Thank Merlin for Jinni, who takes that instant to appear next to them in a crack. With another snap of her fingers, the space around them on the table clutters with different plates of food. Hope’s eyes widen—she hadn’t asked for nearly that much. 

Her eyes roam different types of pasta and bread, two different kinds of salads, lots of vegetables, and an entire rotisserie chicken. Hope lifts her brows at the bottle of elf-made wine in the middle of the table. The pureblood wonders if Dumbledore truly knows what his staff of house-elves are up to in his castle. 

She turns back to Jinni, intent on thanking her. The blue house-elf shifts nervously between feet. 

“Does miss like it?” 

Hope smiles kindly. “Yes, thank you very much, Jinni. You certainly outdid yourself.” 

Jinni all but skips away, and Hope twists her body back to look at Josie, who sheepishly smiles at her in return with two cheeks adorably puffed full of food. 

“I’m guessing you were downplaying your hunger earlier?” Hope asks with a smirk, her own stomach vaguely growling. 

Josie swallows before she speaks, a hand over her mouth. She has the decency to appear embarrassed.

“I missed lunch,” she explains, shrugging. 

—

“Okay, close your eyes.” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to be surprised or not?” 

“_Not_.” 

“Just close your eyes.” 

Josie finally does as Hope instructs, closing her eyes exasperatedly as the pureblood leads them to a secondary, unknown location. She had been afraid that she’d have to temporarily blind the girl with a spell, or cover her eyes with a cloth. 

Hope guides the brunette with careful hands, making sure Josie doesn’t trip or fall over a dent in the ground or a spare pebble. She already knows that the girl will murder her when they get to the quidditch pitch—she doesn’t need to add on an injury to the mix. 

“It’s kind of cold. Are we outside?” Josie asks, just as they cross the courtyard onto the pathway to the pitch. 

“No,” Hope lies, because she can. She grins knowing Josie can’t see it. Finally, when they reach the quidditch pitch, Hope untucks her wand from her sleeve. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” Josie asks, for the fourth time during their little adventure. Hope shakes her head, before forgetting the muggleborn can’t see her. 

“No,” she adds, waving her wand. She then whispers, “Accio broom.” 

“What did you just summon?” Josie twists her body left and right, like trying to see without her eyes. Hope curses herself, wishing she had been quieter. 

“Nothing,” she says. After about a minute, she catches her broomstick floating in the distance. She reaches out her hand and picks the broom out of the air as it comes near. 

“You can open your eyes now.” 

Josie blinks once, twice, then—

“You’re joking,” she deadpans. Her eyes skim the quidditch stadium with clear distaste. She pouts, turning to Hope, pouting at the broom in her hand. “I’m wearing a skirt. Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“I...” Hope pauses. “Am not.” 

“Fine, then,” Josie turns around and begins to walk back up the path they came from. “I’m leaving.” 

Hope pulls her back towards her own body, rolling her eyes. “Where are you going?” 

“Back to the kitchens,” Josie states, a hint of determination in her eyes. She tries to look down her nose at Hope in contempt, but can’t quite succeed in the way a Mikaelson naturally can. The pureblood chuckles with amusement. “Jinni is much better company than you.” 

“I thought you wanted to learn,” she almost laughs, a wry smirk on her face. 

“Oh, well, I changed my mind.” 

“Come on,” Hope says, her voice a single note below a whine. “I cancelled the practice before our big game just for the two of us.” 

“That means nothing to me.” Josie shrugs, but the light flush to her face gives her away. The sky is getting slightly dark, but Hope can still see the pink at the corner of her cheeks. She stares a bit too long. 

“Alright,” Hope clips out, her face blank. Josie instantly frowns. “Goodnight, then. See you in the morning.” 

She slowly moves passed the brunette, who juts out her bottom lip in another adorable pout. 

“Wait.” 

—

Hope and Josie stand together in the small broomshed, the taller girl scanning each broom with finicky eyes, as if making the hardest decision in her life. She pauses for a moment, and Hope thinks that she’s about to finally choose one when the girl only continues looking around. It’s been ten minutes since they first came into the broomshed. 

“Merlin, just pick one,” Hope huffs. “It’s not your wand-choosing ceremony. They’re all the same.” 

“But they’re not!” Josie insists, pointing at a random broom to the right. “Look, that one has a dent on the handle.” 

She points to another one. “And that one’s darker than the others.” 

“So now you’re racist?” 

“Shut up.” Josie glares at her, swiping a hand out towards Hope’s own broom. “Can’t I just use your broom?” 

The pureblood moves it out of her reach. 

“You’re not touching my baby,” she tells her, completely serious. Her fingers grip the handle of her broom more steadily, almost fondling it. She glances over with adoration in her eyes, staring at her broom lovingly. Thank Merlin she had been able to save it from Elizabeth Saltman’s awful prank. 

“No?” Josie grins, raising her eyebrows and moving forward. She tilts her head suggestively, and Hope eyes the skin of her neck revealed, her mind swarming with ideas. 

“No,” Hope swallows, her voice coming out a little deeper than she would like. She stumbles backwards, thinking that she sounds like someone has just scraped her tongue raw. Josie only steps forward again, somehow pinning her against the wall with several inches between them. 

The grin on Josie’s face stretches even wider, and she places a gentle hand on the side of Hope’s neck, leaning in with agonizing slowness.

Her breath comes steady and intoxicating against Hope’s lips, the scent of her shampoo tantalizing to her nose. The pureblood’s eyes flutter close as Josie closes the distance, just barely, their lips ghosting over each other’s once, twice, then—

Her broom gets yanked out of her grasp, and she snaps open her eyes to catch a head of brown hair swiftly exiting the broom shed. She can only hear the creak of the wooden door slamming before she realizes what’s happened. 

Hope grumbles and grabs a random broom, following after her like she always tends to do. Somehow, Josie is already standing in the middle of the pitch when she finds her. 

Her hands are nervously palming Hope’s broom, which the pureblood quickly snatches out of her hands. 

“Here you go.” Hope replaces it with the random broom she had taken from the shed, only smiling when Josie narrows her eyes at her. 

“Your broom feels safer,” she whines, with a slight pout. She’s right, though, mostly because Hope has a Thunderbolt X, whereas the school brooms are all Nimbus 2001’s. Hers has a better cushioning charm and speed enhancement, which one can already tell just by holding it. 

“Exactly,” Hope agrees. “_My_ broom.” 

Josie stares at her. 

“Asshat,” she mutters underneath her breath, stomping away. 

Hope sighs. She had known Josie would chicken out again. “Where are you going now?” 

“Anywhere with light,” the girl tells her, turning around when Hope pulls her back once again. “It’s too dark. I’ll fall to my death and you won’t even see it.” 

Hope chuckles, which only makes Josie more irritated. 

“Slytherin always practices this late,” she tries to soothe her worries. “Your vision should adjust sooner or later.” 

“Mine already has,” the pureblood adds, gloating slightly. “I can see perfectly.” 

The words make Josie pause, and she faces Hope completely. 

“Oh, perfectly?” she asks, looking like she’s about to prove Hope wrong. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“Three.”

“I’m holding up both of my hands,” Josie tells her seriously, as if confirming some huge conspiracy. She tries to leave again, but Hope snakes a tight arm around her waist and pulls her back flush against the pureblood’s front. 

“I was joking,” she whispers, letting the gentle breeze carry her words to Josie’s ear. She places her lips softly against the brunette’s cheek and holds them there, two seconds longer than a peck. “Relax.” 

“Okay?” She turns the girl around with her arm, inhaling her natural scent quietly. Josie seems much better when their eyes meet. 

“Okay,” the muggleborn agrees, stepping away. Hope misses their closeness but chooses not to speak up about it. That would be too embarrassing for her, she thinks. 

“_Okay_,” Hope repeats, grabbing her broom and dropping it to the floor on her right. “Let’s start with the basics. Place your broom on the ground.” 

Josie does as told. 

“Now, repeat after me,” Hope moves her hand over the broom, her mind going back to her first-year flying lesson, where Madame Hooch had said the same words. “Up.” 

The broom floats up to her hand like a lightning bolt, perfect and yielding in her grasp. She looks at Josie expectantly. “Your turn.” 

“Up,” Josie says, but the broom doesn’t move a single inch or centimeter, not up, left, or right. “Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up. Up—“ 

“Stop!” Hope clamps her hands over her ears, since Josie had decided to start yelling halfway through. “My ears are bleeding.” 

The brunette looks unimpressed. She speaks up after a short, impatient moment. “Can I continue now?” 

“No!” Hope says quickly, settling down as her ears stop ringing. She thinks that she might have ruptured an ear drum. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, for one, I lost my hearing,” Hope tells her. “Second, you can’t ask the broom to listen, you have to _command_ it. Somehow, even when you’re screaming your head off, you sound too sweet.” 

Josie blushes, dropping her eyes to the broom. She then seems to harden her gaze, the pink color in her cheeks lessening. In the snobbiest, most pretentious tone the pureblood has ever heard in her life, Josie orders, “I’m Hope Mikaelson, and you must heed my words or else. _Up_.” 

The broom snaps up into her hand quicker than Hope’s had during her demonstration, and she beams with excitement and satisfaction.

Hope shoots her an amused look. “Really?” 

Josie shrugs, still smiling innocently. 

“Alright.” Hope narrows her eyes, observing the broom in Josie’s hold. “You can mount it, now.” 

Josie giggles, but the pureblood doesn’t immediately understand. “Mount it, you say?” 

A blush works its way up Hope’s neck. “I, uh—just get on the damn broom.” 

Josie smooths out her skirt, lifting her leg before stopping herself. “Will this hurt me?” 

“What do you mean?” Hope frowns. 

Josie sends a meaningful glance _down_, her fingers itching over the hem of her top. Her other hand on the broom rubs over the handle to examine it. 

“Ah,” Hope suddenly understands. Josie is wearing skirt, after all. She wills her face to stay impassive, she wills the blush creeping at her shoulders to disappear. “No. I think there should be a decent cushioning charm to support you.” 

“Okay,” Josie seems to accept that, positioning herself a bit awkwardly on the broom. Hope watches it with a high amount of enjoyment. Then, the muggleborn tilts her head and looks at her oddly. 

“Don’t look up my skirt,” she adds casually, and Hope makes a strangling noise being her teeth. She coughs, looking away. The reaction seems to deeply satisfy Josie. 

“Of course not,” she replies, her voice rough in all the wrong—or right?—places. Josie laughs, and Hope glares at her. “Are you going to keep teasing me or should we begin?” 

Josie nods, a bit slowly, a bit reluctantly, and the pureblood remembers that maybe all this teasing has a purpose. That maybe Josie is trying to distract them from flying. 

“Here,” Hope places a light hand on the small of her back, moving her forward on the broom. “You don’t want to be too close to the back or you might fall off.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, because the sentence only seems to stress Josie out more. The muggleborn tenses enough for Hope to feel the muscles of her back tighten beneath her skin. 

“Kick off whenever you’re ready,” she says, her voice low. She resists the urge to raise her guiding hand higher into brown locks. “Lean forward to go up.” 

She then steps back, not wanting to accidentally be kicked or hit in the face when Josie inevitably does something wrong. Hope grips her own broom in anticipation. 

A minute passes and Josie just sits there. 

“Whenever you’re ready...” Hope mentions, once again, because she knows if the muggleborn doesn’t get started quickly she won’t at all. With a sharp intake of breath, Josie kicks off the ground. 

Too hard. 

She catapults herself into the air shrieking like a madwoman, her legs kicking in random directions with a death-grip on the handle. 

“Pull down on the handle!” Hope yells at her, but Josie must not be able to hear her because she only pulls up and sends herself thirty feet into the sky. Her first reaction is to laugh at the funny situation, but her heart drops at when she catches a glimpse of the look of pure horror on Josie’s face. 

Hope rubs at her forehead, not wanting to watch whatever happens next. She sighs as Josie sends herself zigzagging in a million different directions, the sounds of her screams so loud that Hope feels the noise reverberate through her teeth like it’s whispered right into her ear. 

She quickly mounts her own broom, steadily shooting towards Josie with a panic that had been wholly unfamiliar to her until two months ago. It seems, since she had met the muggleborn, that all she’s been able to feel is panic and far too many emotions. 

“Josie!” she yells again as she approaches the girl. “Pull down on your handle!” 

Fortunately, Josie hears her this time, and she relaxes her body and pulls down on the handle. Unfortunately, the muggleborn’s body is unaccustomed to the speed, and she jumps forward while her broom stays still. 

Hope’s pupils dilate as she practically launches herself off the front of the broom, falling through the air at a horrifying speed. Without a body and magic to guide it, the stick begins to fall right next to her, albeit at a much slower pace. 

Hope leans forward and pulls all the way down on her handle, bolting through the sky with dread lining her insides. Her teeth clench with brutal intensity, her heart pounding louder than the sound of her zipping through the air. 

Her blood runs cold. She stops breathing. 

Hope positions herself right below the falling girl, holding out her arms and bracing herself for the inevitable collision. Hopefully, the pureblood will be enough to break her fall. 

With an oomph tumbling out of her lips, Hope’s arms bend dangerously, the addition of another person in them almost breaking her bones. She grits her teeth through the pain, her mouth letting out a small hiss as she catches Josie, one hand under her knees and one behind her back. 

She leans forward with the weight, her head bowing over Josie’s body as she greedily forces air into her lungs. The broom drops about ten feet before Hope can properly balance it. 

Blue and brown meet silently, the sound around them rushing by their ears and stiffening into a void. 

“You caught me,” Josie breathes, her hair a mess of tangles and wind but so, so beautiful. Hope nods dumbly, beyond breathless, her lungs starving for oxygen, yet she can’t seem to inhale completely right. 

She does her best to coolly smirk, suddenly sweltering in her hoodie. She gets the sudden need to tear it off of her body, to feel Josie’s skin on hers without the barrier of clothing. “Did you think I would let you fall?” 

Josie laughs, a disbelieving and incredulous sound that once can only manage after a near-death experience. She drops her arms from Hope’s shoulders, settling herself on the broom more solidly. 

Her breath hitches as her gaze finds Hope’s again—Hope, who hasn’t stopped staring at her since she kicked off the ground, who is too scared to let her out of her vision for fear of the girl falling again. 

The pureblood leans forward once more before she can stop herself, dipping her lips down to Josie’s. Her mouth is chapped from the harsh elements of wind and air, but she doesn’t think the muggleborn cares all that much when she makes a pleased sound in response. 

Her hands wrap around Hope’s shoulders once again, leaning up the best she can to meet her kiss for kiss, touch for touch, breath for breath. Hope thinks, very briefly, that sharing air tastes so much better this high up, with her head spinning and dizzy. 

It all distracts her so much that she accidentally leans the wrong way on the broom, sending them plummeting nearly another thirty feet before she notices. 

She only _does_ notice when Josie’s arms become suffocating around her neck, pulling away from her lips to gasp directly into her ear. 

Hope scrambles for purchase on the broom, her hands flying everywhere to keep them both steady and still. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes when they stop, only a couple of feet above the ground. Shit. 

“_Hope_,” Josie sucks in a breath, her nails still clawing at the back of Hope’s neck, her fingers clenched deep within her hair. Hope flutters her eyes back open slowly. “You...” 

She trails off, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as she glances down, and the pureblood follows her eyes to find her hand and most of her arm up Josie’s skirt, her fingers skimming soft skin. 

Fuck. 

How does this always happen to her? 

Hope swipes her hand out quickly, receiving something that sounds a lot like a moan when her fingers accidentally brush a sensitive spot on the brunette’s thighs. 

She repositions the hand on top of her other one on the broom, gently lowering them to the ground. Josie immediately pushes her and leaps off the broom, and Hope almost loses her balance. She glares at the other girl as she steps off the stick. 

“I am _never_ doing that again!” Josie says, pointing at the pureblood accusingly. Hope averts her gaze, looking around for the broom Josie had been riding. She finds it all the way across the pitch, in broken splinters. 

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Hope complains, pleading with her eyes. 

“Oh, _I_ see,” Josie stalks away, pulling down her skirt. Hope’s traitorous eyes follow the motion. “Is that when you kill me yourself? I knew falling to my death was too easy for you.” 

Hope watches her for about a minute, letting Josie get a good distance away before she floats after her on her trusty broom. 

She whizzes in front of the girl, tilting her head with a small smile. “Get on.” 

It looks like Josie doesn’t want this night to end as much as Hope does, because she actually listens, even if it takes about a minute or two of her crossing her arms and thinking about it. 

Hope tries not to move a muscle or make a single sound as Josie makes herself comfortably behind her, pulling her front to Hope’s back hesitantly. Her fingers tap against the pureblood sides, unsure of where to let them lie, and they hover in the air for a silent second. 

“Hang on tight,” Hope advises, starting to move forward so Josie gets the message. She waits another second as the muggleborn curls her hands around her waist, slotting her chin over her shoulder. 

Her fingers interlocking against Hope’s stomach feels so nice that the shorter girl nearly hums at the feeling, but she gathers herself enough to bring them up slowly. 

They circle the pitch a couple of times, just Hope letting Josie get used to what normal, relaxes flying feels like. Once the brunette seems to ease into it, she starts to bring them away from the pitch and towards the Great Lake. 

When Hope decides to fly over twenty miles an hour, Josie screams and clamps around her, which the pureblood rolls her eyes at but slows down nonetheless. 

“You can go faster,” Josie tells her, a couple of minutes later, as they approach the lake. Hope raises her eyebrows knowing the other girl can’t see it, flying lower and faster enough that the water zooms past them, not a foot away from their feet. 

The speed forms a thin layer of mist around them that feels nice against Hope’s face, and she can tell that Josie is also enjoying it when she grins into Hope’s neck like a secret. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, hopefully this makes up for it :) i’m afraid that i probably won’t post on this story for a long time, since i’m going to try updating my other stories like my dark josie one, teen wolf au, and love potion fic (probably in that order)


	44. Chapter 44

Severus Snape pales, his face losing all color at the audience of professors staring expectantly at him—all of whom look thoroughly cross. Quite unlike the middle-aged man he is, he drops his gaze nervously to the floor like a scolded child. 

“It appears that I was sorely mistaken,” he begins, trailing off to search for the right words. It doesn’t matter, because someone interrupts him pretty quickly. 

“You wrongly informed us that they were engaged!” Professor Vector jumps in, her eyes ablaze. Snape winces, flitting his own gaze towards her sheepishly. 

“Well...” he defends himself, swallowing thickly, “...yes.” 

The entire room only gets louder at that, the rest of the professors choosing to vehemently lecture the man instead of understanding where he might be coming from. 

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore chuckles quietly from the window of his office, looking out into the distance. For a second, he swears that he can see two figures near the Great Lake, before he chalks it off to his imagination. 

What would any of his students be doing out there, anyways? He almost laughs at himself—_surely_, he must be getting too old. 

Dumbledore raises a commanding hand as he turns back to his staff, swiftly catching their attention and silencing the room all at once. 

“The inaccuracies of the engagement matter not,” he says, clasping his hands together delicately. “I fear we have more pressing troubles at hand. Irma, if you will?” 

Madame Irma Pince nods, parting her way through the crowd of teachers to come to a stand next to the headmaster. She then removes a piece of paper from the pocket of her white robe. 

“I found this left behind by two students in the library,” she says, unfolding the piece of paper. Snape swallows thickly, somehow recognizing the piece of parchment, even though the sides of it are torn and jagged. 

“Is that...?” Snape speaks up, trailing off for fearing of being right. Pince nods and slowly hands over the paper, allowing the man time to read over it. A second is all he needs. 

Snape looks away and sighs as if confirming some deep suspicion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Who were the two students?” he asks, a profound part of him not wanting to know the answer. 

“Hope Mikaelson and Josette Saltzman.” 

—

Hope stands by herself in the Slytherin locker room Saturday morning, trying to complete her usual pre-game ritual. There’s about an hour before the quidditch match starts, so she expects the rest of her team will be here within a few minutes. 

It’s the famous rival game between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and frankly, Hope is seconds away from going into cardiac arrest. Her entire body feels on edge, from her jumpy nerves to her prickling skin. 

Where the routine of lacing up her boots and piling on her pads is usually calming and almost cathartic, now it only serves to further agitate her. 

That’s how she stands currently—her back ramrod straight as she stares into the locker in front of her with disinterest, her thoughts miles away from quidditch, more specifically on the winter ball instead. 

The ball itself is in two weeks, which doesn’t give Hope a whole lot of time to prepare, in truth. At least, it doesn’t give her a whole lot of time to mentally prepare. 

She still needs to rehearse for any possible upcoming conversations with her family, and she still needs to practice her expressionless mask in the mirror. It won’t do well for her father to catch a flicker of pain in her eyes when he inevitably hurts her somehow. 

There is also the obvious conundrum of figuring out a plan to distract her family away from Josie, who is bringing her own parents with her. Hope doesn’t think that her father will publicly cause a scene, but then again, he is a man of surprises. 

The pureblood also needs to get a date. Ugh. She can’t imagine herself going with anyone but Josie. 

Hope pauses from her thoughts with narrowed eyes, feeling an odd presence behind her. Unsettled, the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up underneath her ponytail, and she wonders why the person hasn’t made themselves known yet. 

Surely, if it was someone from her team, they would have spoken up and declared their presence already. In fact, she would have heard a teammate of hers coming from meters away. Hmm... 

The pureblood whirls around just as the person raises a hand to her back, spinning the both of them up against the wall of lockers. 

“Did I frighten you?” Josie giggles, eyes bright and face slightly flushed. Hope breathes in the intoxicating scent of her perfume and sighs, but she doesn’t drop her hands from where they’re pinning Josie’s wrists above her head. 

“Were you trying to?” She presses closer, a playful glint in her eye. Josie bites her bottom lip thoughtfully in response, suckling it into her mouth as if shy. Hope licks her own unconsciously, wondering how much time they’ll have to themselves if she chooses to kiss Josie right now. 

Unable to resist, the pureblood leans forward to steal a short kiss, her lips meeting the muggleborn’s sweetly. It’s really only chaste, just their closed mouths sliding against each other for a couple of seconds, before Hope pulls away. 

It stops being chaste the moment Josie chases after her, her arms still trapped above her head. Hope gently slams her back against the locker in a move that leaves the both of them breathless, fusing their hips together as their mouths connect again and again. 

Hope almost groans when the brunette pulls her bottom lip between her own, becoming completely dizzy and weak at the knees. It spurs something hot and thick in the lowest part of her abdomen, and she slips a wanton tongue through parted lips. 

All moral ideas and notions of waiting, of _courting_, bleed to nothing as their tongues stroke against each other, filling Hope with the instant desire to strip the other girl of all her clothes and _fuck_—

“Please,” Josie whispers against her mouth, squirming in her hold, trying to arch into the pureblood, but Hope doesn’t let her. She keeps her flush against the lockers, smirking into her lips even as she pulls away again. 

Her eyes lower as she opens them, dropping to the space below Josie’s chin as she subtly—which is to say, not very subtly—checks her out. The muggleborn is wearing a small blouse tucked into a short, grey skirt that hugs her waist. The weather is uncharacteristically warm, so her outfit is fairly reasonable. 

This is actually one of the few sunny days they’ve had this month, and in Hope’s opinion, it’s the perfect day for flying. 

She drags her eyes back up from the long legs they were previously roaming, her irises catching a glint of light near the collar of the muggleborn’s blouse. She slowly takes in the shiny Gryffindor pin clipped there, hurt knotting thickly in her stomach. 

_Seriously_? 

Couldn’t Josie have waited to put that on after Hope saw her? Did she really need to flaunt it around in her face like this? The pureblood’s nose flares, anger simmering just below the surface of her skin. 

Her mind floods with vile thoughts. She realizes that Josie has never cheered her on during a match. Nope. Not once. 

The Mikaelson heir had thought things would change when they got together, but clearly not. It obviously doesn’t matter which house the muggleborn is in, since her allegiance quite plainly lies elsewhere. 

First, the Gryffindor scarf, then the flag, and now this? Can’t she understand that Hope needs her full support right now? 

The pureblood lets out a low whistle as she steps away, shaking her head with silent, disbelieving laughter. Her breath comes hot and shallow, lungs quivering in her chest. “You just couldn’t resist, huh?” 

She turns her body back to the rest of her uniform pads, which are conveniently dangling off the nearby bench. She bends down and grabs one roughly, refusing to make eye contact with the other girl. 

“I mean, at least it’s not that fucking scarf,” she continues, almost offhandedly. An image flashes in her mind of a green and grey scarf left abandoned in a hallway. If her shoulders shake as she wraps a pad around her left elbow, she pretends not to notice. Try as she might, her lips curl into a sarcastic sneer unbidden. She snarks, “Oh no, it must’ve been much too hot out to wear that one.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hope,” she hears, but she keeps her body turned away stubbornly. She knows she’s being silly. She knows that she has no good reason to get upset over this, but she can’t stop herself from feeling oddly betrayed. 

It shouldn’t matter if Josie wants to go and wear a stupid Gryffindor pin. It shouldn’t, so why does it? 

“Look at me,” Josie implores, once again behind her, followed by the sound of clothing being ruffled, but Hope stays as still as stone. Her blood boils to a molten mess. 

“Look.” The command is gentle, but a command nonetheless. It makes the pureblood want to turn back around and spew out apologies for snapping at the other girl and assuming. Be that as it may, Hope is too hotheaded and proud to do that. 

Her eyes continue to burn into the wall across from her, itching to set fire on everything in her line of vision. She closes them and sees red paint the blacks of her eyelids. 

This is her father’s temper, she knows, so why can’t she ignore it? Is it not enough to acknowledge that she shares this anger with him? Is it not enough...? 

“Look. At. Me.” 

“_What_?” Hope whirls around, beyond exasperated. She instantly freezes at the sight that greets her. 

Somehow, without the pureblood noticing, Josie has managed to undo the top buttons of her thin blouse, exposing a lacy, green bra with two matching Slytherin emblems on the cups. 

Hope’s mouth runs dry. Her jaw slackens. Her lips part. Her pupils dilate. 

She forgets how to speak, forgets how to move the muscles of her mouth, forgets how to form words. Instead, she lets the room dissolve to silence as her eyes stray to the tan skin of Josie’s stomach and linger on the swell of her breasts. 

“...” 

The silence in the room stretches for a long enough time that Josie begins to grow visibly uncomfortable. She shifts under Hope’s attention, fiddling with the hem of her untucked blouse nervously. 

“Oh,” Hope voices, at last. 

Perhaps taking the stunned note to the pureblood’s voice the wrong way, Josie backtracks and tries to button her blouse up again. “What? Do you not like it? Oh, god. Was this too much? I knew—“ 

“No, no,” Hope steps forward, placing her hands atop Josie’s own before she can cover herself back up. Now that she’s even closer to the other girl, she falls into much of the same trance from earlier. Her mouth drops open once more. Her eyes darken enough that Josie blushes underneath her smoldering gaze. “Oh my—Merlin.” 

“When did you get that?” she asks, breathless, her thumb absentmindedly swiping a trail up and down Josie’s stomach. She delights in the fact that the muggleborn leans into the touch. 

“I made it last night,” Josie tells her, pouting slightly. Hope finds herself wanting to kiss the expression right off of her face. “I was originally going to wait until after you won the game to show you, but...” 

The brunette trails off, maybe unsure of bringing up moments ago, where Hope had nearly thrown a temper tantrum over a silly Gryffindor pin. Now, the Gryffindor pin is the farthest thing from Hope’s mind. 

“After I won?” She smiles, a flicker at a single corner of her lips, hopeful. Josie nods happily. 

“Yeah,” she confirms, a tad shy. She then dips her head down, close enough that her lips brush against Hope’s cheek for just a second. When she leans away, her own cheeks are a very nice rosy color. Hope can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, bashful, or something else. Even so, the muggleborn grows teasing. “I have full faith in you, Hope Mikaelson.” 

Hearing the sincerity in those words makes her heart burst in a way that the pureblood isn’t entirely comfortable with, so she tries her hardest to move away from the seriousness of the moment. She glances away, gulping down the thick string of emotion in her throat the best way she knows how. 

“Oh, do you, now?” she jokes, backing the other girl against the wall once again. Josie allows herself to become trapped, something submissive and encouraging in her gaze that nearly brings Hope to her knees. At the very least, her legs wobble enough that she has to place a steadying palm against the wall, effectively cornering Josie in. 

The pureblood comes to the understanding very quickly that she really, really wants to kiss Josie. 

And she _does_. 

She kisses the skin underneath her eyes, the high of her cheekbones, the dip of her chin, the pout of her lips. She finds that she can’t get enough, especially when the muggleborn accompanies each kiss with a cute, little giggle that has Hope grinning. 

“I love your laugh,” she tells her, her free hand finding its home flat against Josie’s stomach. Nothing quite compares to the feeling of the muggleborn against her like this, with their bodies pressing into each other so closely. Every touch shoots electricity down her veins and warms her skin, and she doesn’t hesitate before bringing her other hand down and running them both appraisingly over the girl’s sides. 

Josie cants up with the first brush of Hope’s fingers along the fabric of her bra, a cross between something like a whine and a moan leaving her lips. Her head falls back against the wall, revealing a long, unmarked neck that the pureblood’s eyes zero in on. 

Well. It would be rude to leave it unmarked. Right? 

Hope immediately moves forward, connecting her lips to the underside of Josie’s jaw almost reverently. 

“I love...” Josie starts, panting and so fucking beautiful against her. Her head lulls to the side even farther, almost like an offering, giving Hope more space to work with. “...Your mouth.” 

The pureblood backs away some, cocking her own head curiously. 

“Yeah?” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, smirking at the pink tint to Josie’s cheeks. It’s obvious that the girl hadn’t meant to say that. She presses another soft kiss to her jaw, trailing her lips to Josie’s ear. “Where do you want my mouth?” 

Maybe too breathless to respond, the muggleborn tangles her fingers into Hope’s hair and undos the ponytail, guiding her lips down to the sweet spot by her pulse point. Almost immediately, the pureblood sucks the skin into her mouth, and the answering moan she receives is beyond filthy. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hope whispers, like a secret, against the flesh of her throat. Consumed by her desire and forgetting all sense of prudence, she slides her hands up Josie’s sides to possessively palm her breasts through the material of her bra. The effect is instantaneous—the muggleborn cries out with a muted gasp, her head dropping forward over Hope’s shoulder as her hips buck forward. 

“Hope.”

“Mhmm,” the pureblood hums against her clavicle as she discovers another sensitive spot, their bodies pressed so deliciously together that Hope can swear in that moment she hears music.

Without a second thought, she lifts her knee up to part Josie’s legs and slip in between them, raising the small skirt obscenely high around her waist. The muggleborn reacts almost frantically, dipping her fingers down from Hope’s hair to claw at the back of her neck. 

“God,” Josie breathes, lifting the pureblood’s head up slightly. Hope startles her eyes open, in a daze, but the few blinks she gets are more than enough to catch the heavy lids of Josie’s own. “Kiss me.” 

Their lips meet in that same hurried, intense pace as Hope pulls them into a steady rhythm, pushing up with her thigh just as Josie rolls her hips down. Their mouths do the same; except, the muggleborn takes the time to pull Hope’s bottom lip between her own once again. 

For some reason, it sets Hope off, and she reclaims Josie’s lips with her own in fervor, biting down when she gets the chance. She draws blood instantly, tasting crimson and copper when her tongue swipes over the spot in apology. 

She fucking loves it.

She loves everything about this. She loves how close they are, loves how their bodies fit so perfectly against each other, loves how hot Josie’s skin is underneath her fingertips, loves how the muggleborn tastes...

The pureblood growls appreciatively as Josie grinds down onto her thigh again, sweet soundafter sweet sound leaving the muggleborn’s lips and entering Hope’s. 

It does nothing to relieve her of the utter ache between her own thighs. If anything, the noises the other girl is making only exacerbates her little problem. The heat of Josie’s warmth against her thigh doesn’t help much either, sending shivers racing down her spine and straight to her—

Then, someone gasps. 

It’s not Josie. 

And it’s _definitely_ not Hope. 

The pair’s eyes snap open to each other, both carrying identical looks of panic. Hope drops the knee between Josie’s thighs, her body slumping forward with a mix of fear and humiliation. She slowly turns her head around in dread, relaxing when her eyes fall upon one Rose Nicot. 

Thank Merlin, really, that it wasn’t anyone else that had been here to catch them. In the privacy of her head, Hope reminds herself to thank Rose later, and maybe count her lucky stars after. 

The pureblood then slowly removes her hands from the inside of Josie’s blouse, laying her palms flat against the wall on either side of Josie as she shifts forward and tries to retain some of the girl’s modesty. 

Her attempt to cover them both is one in vain. 

“Nicot, some privacy please?” she asks, a tinge of annoyance in her voice as well as a starkly deep quality to it. She clears her throat fruitlessly, hating how rough her voice can get sometimes. Especially after kissing Josie...

“Sure.” Rose’s own voice comes out sickly-sweet and innocent, but there’s something scared there, too. To add, despite agreeing to Hope’s request, she stays rooted to her spot. 

“What, Rose?” 

“It’s just,” the girl begins, very reluctantly, “the rest of the team is on their way over right now.” 

A bit snidely, she adds, “And your attempt at a pre-game quickie with your girlfriend is most definitely ill-timed.” 

Josie squeaks and blushes darkly—deep red from the tops of her breasts to her cheeks. Yet, at the same time, the frame of her shoulders settles more calmly, as if realizing that Rose is an ally and not an enemy. 

The muggleborn pushes Hope away—who is still trying to stop the strangled groan from escaping between her teeth, who is still trying to bat away the image of a “pre-game quickie”—and begins buttoning her thin shirt back up. 

Hope watches the action in mourning, quite blatantly staring at Josie until the muggleborn scrunches up her face and gives her a pointed look to stop. Hope scowls, but steps back, meeting Rose’s eyes. 

“I guess I owe you one,” she says, quirking up a grateful smile as Josie tries to smooth down her skirt next to her with great difficulty. 

Hope hesitates for just a moment before kindly reaching out to assist her. Unfortunately, her helping hand ends up on the other girl’s bottom, which causes Josie to jump about a foot in the air and swat her hand away with a glare. Hope pouts as Rose basically laughs in her face. 

She forgets that Rose is even in the room a second later when the muggleborn finally turns to her, the rest of the world melting away as blue eyes meet brown. 

“I’ll see you later?” Josie smiles, an almost reassuring expression, and Hope nods dumbly.She forces her lips to close, forces herself not to hang her mouth open like an idiot. Yet, Josie Saltzman is too beautiful not to drool over, and Hope Mikaelson is too much of an idiot not to act like one. 

“Okay, then.” 

Just when Hope thinks that they might hug or kiss goodbye, Josie makes for the back exit. She doesn’t move very fast, though, and she lingers, like the light from a spell moments after it’s been casted. Hope grows dizzy as if hit. 

“Good luck,” the muggleborn adds, with no small amount of hesitance, her eyes to the floor. “To the both of you, I mean.” 

“And—“ Hope’s heart stops, watching as Josie glances up to Rose with an awful lot of sincerity. Rose stares back, her face blank, the cut of her jawline careful. 

“Thank you.” 

Rose’s mouth visibly ticks, a slight tremor at the edge of her cheek, before she looks over to Hope and allows herself to smile slightly. “You’re welcome.” 

The pureblood heaves a sigh, feeling strangely relieved.

—

Hope mounts her broom, watching the heads of her teammates in front of her as they fly out onto the pitch. The usual screaming and hissing greets them the second they kick off into the sky, three-quarters of the stands unable to resist showing how much they hate Slytherin. 

To Hope’s anxious eye, the bleachers look as packed as ever. The teacher’s booth is full as well, and from the distance, Hope can just barely make out Dumbledore’s ridiculous large, pointy, purple hat. 

Looking around, she sees that most students have on varying shades of face paint and jerseys, but the consensus this morning seems to be this:

_ Fuck Slytherin!  _

In fact, a single section of the stadium is decked out in green and grey; the rest is fully shiny-gold and bright-red. Hope actually has to look away for fear of losing her eyesight and becoming permanently blind. 

She rolls her eyes when the screaming only gets louder, inhaling deeply. The pureblood slowly allows the tension in the knotted muscles of her back to dissolve as she breathes in the clean air. She then pulls down on the handle of her broom, speeding off towards her usual spot during quidditch introductions—the front of the line. 

She leads her team around the quidditch pitch, her eyes secretly darting around the bleachers in search of Josie. After their third lap, she recognizes the brunette in the Gryffindor section just as she comes near the lions’ den. 

“BOO!” Josie and the rest of them scream, but when Hope catches her eye, the muggleborn winks in her direction. 

The pureblood’s chest instantly swells with something akin to satisfaction. She gets the sudden urge to scream her love for Josie out into the sky, to let everyone know that Josie is hers and she is Josie’s. Thinking better of it, she chooses to remain quiet, only smirking smugly as she flies back to the middle where they’ll start the game. 

The Gryffindor players are already formed in a circle in the middle of the pitch—Slytherin always the last to be introduced during these matches. As Hope floats herself to her spot across the Gryffindor Seeker, Paul Matthias, he looks down his nose at her and narrows his eyes with contempt. 

The two of them gently begin to drift up into the sky, both wanting the upper hand, both wanting to show the other that they’re beneath them. Below, Madame Hooch releases the quaffle. 

“_...And Slytherin takes first possession_.” Hope shoots her head up at the familiar voice of Clara Randall, her eyes tracking the announcer’s box with thinly-veiled distress. Surely enough, she finds Alyssa Chang and Clara sitting together, each with a hand on the microphone. 

_ What the fuck? Since when does a quidditch match need two people to commentate on it?  _

Hope swallows the messy gulp of worry in her throat, hoping that Clara will choose to be professional about this. She hasn’t really talked to the girl since their date at Hogsmeade, but she’s certain that they had ended amiably enough, right?

Wrong. 

Within the first couple of minutes, Clara and Alyssa have managed to rain down fury on Slytherin with scathing remarks and judge-y, little comments here and there, the former’s words a bit more tamer. 

At one point, Alyssa calls Hope a one-leaf bowtruckle, and the pureblood isn’t exactly sure what that particular insult means, but she knows it can’t be anything good.

Even so, she tries her best to pay attention to the game, but can’t quite help glancing back to Josie every now and then. The muggleborn has a distinct pull to her that Hope lets herself get caught in without resistance, so her eyes continue to drift to the brunette throughout the match. 

Distractions aside, Hope finds pretty quickly that her team is performing the best that they ever have. Rose Nicot is doing an extremely great job, having blocked every single goal from coming into the posts. 

To add, Jo Victoire and Ryan Clarke are making quite the pair, carrying the team in terms of points and assists. Thirty minutes into the game, the score is 140-0, in Slytherin’s favor. This is mostly due to Gryffindor Keeper Milton Greasley’s total inability to block a single goal. 

Hope hasn’t ever seen him play on the team before, so she comes to the quick conclusion that he’s subbing in for their usual keeper, John Blake, who is nowhere to be found. 

This is a blessing in disguise, because Milton truly sucks at playing. Pretty quickly on, just to mock him, the Slytherin section begins chanting, “Greasley is our king!” 

Hope smirks as her eyes catch the scoreboard, dodging right just as a bludger comes from her left. It flies past her to somewhere in the distance, and she tilts her head peculiarly as she looks around for its source: Gryffindor Beater Rafael Waithe. 

Huh. There really is no reason to go after her, so the pureblood absentmindedly wonders why he would bother trying to hit her when her chasers and keeper should be his prime targets. Whatever. This happens to her nearly every game...so why is it bothering her so much now? 

Her eyes squint at the boy curiously, only to witness the exact moment Maya Machado swings her bat against the bludger Hope had just dodged herself, catapulting it into  the direction of Rafael. It hits him straight in the back, causing him to scrunch his features up in pain. He then drops his own bat, falling ten feet down before he finally grabs his broom handle and steadies himself. 

Gryffindor Chaser Marley Zimmer catches the bat below him, her head drawn up towards the commotion in confusion. Seeming to realize what’s happened, she sets her jaw in revenge and patiently waits for a bludger to come soaring her way. When it does, she waves the bat and sends the ball flying towards Maya. 

Unfortunately, Maya is too busy laughing and high-fiving Penelope to notice it. She turns her body to the bludger just as it collides roughly with her elbow, twisting the joint at a weird angle. A sickening snap resounds loudly throughout the pitch, and the Machado sibling plummets to the ground with a scream. 

The dull noise that comes from her hitting the grass is even worse. 

“_Ooh_,” Alyssa Chang coos from the commentator’s booth, uncaring. 

“_Is Zimmer allowed to do that_?” Clara whispers next to her, not very quietly. 

“_Probably not._” Alyssa flicks a piece of lint between her nails, a move that’s almost casual. “_But it’s not like Machado didn’t deserve it._” 

Clara hums thoughtfully. 

In the staff’s box nearby, Professor Snape stands up from his seat, his face uncharacteristically expressive. Hope can clearly see the anger written on his face as hecalls on Madame Hooch to penalize Gryffindor. He also takes the moment to cruelly criticize her refereeing skills. 

Penelope is just as indignant. 

“Blow your whistle, you old hag!” she yells, flying over to where Hooch hangs in the middle of the pitch overlooking the match. The two begin to heatedly argue, but the pureblood can’t hear a thing. 

Instead, she focuses on Maya. Hope doesn’t think twice before zipping towards her and dismounting her broom. The rest of her team do the same, all except for Rose, who stays defending the quidditch goal posts as the game continues. 

“It seems that Machado is out of the game,” Clara duly notes. “At this rate, Mikaelson might join her.” 

Hope kneels down to a groaning Maya, worry wrinkling the space between her eyebrows. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, as a couple of professors and Madame Pomfrey start to make their way down from the stands. 

“Oh, yeah!” Maya bites out, through teeth clenched in pain. Hope vaguely notices the tears tracking down her cheeks. “I’m just crying for fun!” 

“My bad,” Hope swallows, running her fingers soothingly through Maya’s hair as the girl thrashes on the ground, holding her elbow. “Don’t worry, Pomfrey’ll be here soon.” 

“_Look_,” Alyssa points out to her friend, “_your old flame is helping out your new play toy. How _sweet_._” 

Hope lifts her head up, frowning. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

“_Just between you and me_,” Alyssa lowers her voice conspiratorially, yet Hope and the entire stadium can still hear her loud and clear. “_Who’s the better kisser_?” 

A murmur of whispers and snickers falls upon the crowd, the buzzing of the game fading to the background. Hope furrows her eyebrows, glancing between Maya and Clara suspiciously. 

“_Maya_,” Clara admits, a wicked grin on her face. Boisterous chuckles and cackles fill the entire stadium, and Hope can’t help but think that this was all preplanned. She scowls bitterly, a blush shooting up her neck like lightning. Whatever. Hope’s a great fucking kisser. She won’t let this get to her. 

The pureblood looks back down to Maya, who is very clearly avoiding her eyes as sounds of pain continue to spill from her lips. Hope lifts her gaze back up to the Gryffindor section of the stands, her eyes finding Josie, who has an expression on her face that is quite difficult to read. Around her, all her friends continue to roar in laughter. 

Yet, the muggleborn remains blank. Hope can’t figure out what Josie thinks about this. She can’t tell from the short space between her knitted eyebrows, she can’t tell from the pout on her lips, and she definitely can’t tell from the shadows in her dark eyes. 

Hope looks away, frowning. 

In record time, Pomfrey reaches the pair, second to all of Hope’s teammates. She begins to examine Maya quickly. 

“Hmm...yes...the girl most likely needs some Skele-Gro,” she says, taking out her wand. “Her arm is too unstable to finish the game. I suggest that we bring her to my office at once...” 

Satisfied, Hope turns around to send an unforgiving glare to her friends. “What are you all doing?” 

One by one, they all lose the color in their faces and turn pale. 

“We still have a game to play,” she states plainly, nodding her head off to the sky. “Get up there.” 

“But—“ Jo tries. 

“But _nothing_,” Hope interjects, pausing as she watches a chaser in gold and red approach the goal posts with the quaffle. Thankfully, Rose blocks it before it can go in. “Take a look for yourselves, Nicot is up there alone while we all stand here doing nothing. It’s seven versus one. Do I need to repeat myself?” 

They all shake their heads quickly, mounting their brooms and shooting back off into the fast pace of the game. Ethan lingers, eyeing his sister nervously as Professor Snape places a calming spell on her and levitates her sedated body. 

“You can go with her, obviously,” she adds, knowing that he isn’t truly needed for Slytherin to finish the game. At least, it’s not like he had scored as many goals as Jo or Ryan have. 

He nods gratefully and follows his sister off the field, and only then does Hope allow herself to let out the breath that she had been holding. 

Somehow, in the midst of it all, her eyes find Josie once again, who she quickly sees is already staring right back at her. The muggleborn smiles kindly, something comforting and encouraging stretching her lips.

Hope smiles back, forgetting that she is currently in the middle of an actual game. She almost even raises her fingers in a wave, before remembering herself. 

The pureblood nods at the girl, almost imperceptibly, before casting her vision to the sky and unwinding the rigid line of her shoulders. The small reprieve she gets from Josie’s reassuring gaze is short-lived, however. 

“Hope!” Rose yells from the keeper’s post, something in her voice terrified. Hope spins around just in time to catch sight of Gryffindor’s seeker speeding off towards the ground, quite clearly having seen the snitch. 

“_It seems that Gryffindor Seeker Paul Matthias has caught wind of the snitch_,” Clara says, “_Hope Mikaelson appears to be very far behind him_.” 

The pureblood growls at that and climbs her broom with record-speed, shooting after the boy in sheer desperation. She reaches him in seconds, due to her superior broom, but Paul’s hand is already outstretched in search of the snitch. 

Hope stretches out her hand as well, feeling horror bite into her skin like a thousand of the sun’s rays. A bead of sweat drips down her forehead, her breathing run ragged. 

The two seekers are close enough to bump into each other, and they do. Hope tries to ram the side of her body into him in a lousy attempt to knock the boy off his broom, and in return, Paul sticks his arm out at her face. 

The sharp point of his elbow hits her directly in the temple, causing blood to instantly spurt down her nose. Her vision blurs with tears, and she clutches at her face with both her hands. 

It’s the wrong move, because her broom goes spinning out of control, sending her spiraling towards the single dusty part of the field. Her legs hit the ground first, and she flips a couple of feet backward before the world stills around her. She ends up sprawled out on the ground, her robes covered in dirt and her face covered in blood. 

“_And Paul Matthias catches the snitch,_” Alyssa announces, with no small amount of joy. “_That makes the score 150-140, with Slytherin losing by ten points._” 

“_Crushing_,” she adds, beyond sarcastic, her tone of voice implying that she, in fact, feels no empathy towards Slytherin at all. The stands erupt in three parts cheers and one part groans. 

Hope blinks open her eyes in a daze, the clouds in the sky doubling in her foggy vision. It doesn’t completely register yet that her team has just lost. She finally manages to stand up when she sees two Pauls towering over her, identical gloating smirks on their faces. 

She blinks again and the two Pauls turn into one, but she doesn’t feel any less threatened. He’s saying something, that much is clear, though his words are muted and she can’t hear a thing. 

Until, she can.

“...feel to lose, Mikaelson?” Paul smirks even wider, crossing his arms as he looks down at her. Hope draws her eyebrows together furiously, stepping forward so that they can stand toe to toe and nose to nose. 

The revelation that Gryffindor has won shoots flames down her veins. Her entire blood volume catches on fire. 

“That was an illegal move,” the pureblood mutters under her breath, glaring at him. He hadn’t even tried to hide the way he had blatantly slapped her, yet Pomfrey still didn’t called a foul. Hope raises her voice, catching onto his previous words. “How does it feel to win by ten points?” 

Paul’s smirk drops slightly, before coming back full-force. “I bet as good as it would feel if I kicked your ass.” 

Inwardly, Hope rolls her eyes at the lame retort. She honestly had been expecting more. The pureblood then curls the corner of her lip into a careful sneer. “Why don’t you try it?” 

A blue vein bulges noticeably on his forehead. She discovers that she sincerely wants to draw blood from it. 

“Careful, Mikaelson,” the boy taunts, raising both his eyebrows dangerously. “I’m not above fighting a girl.” 

“Huh,” she laughs humorlessly, becoming more aware of her surroundings as she takes her eyes off the seeker and looks around. Her teammates surround her, all wearing equal looks of irritation. The pureblood casually wipes away some of the blood dripping into her mouth. “That’s what I was about to say.” 

It takes the dumb oaf a moment to get it, but when he does, the reaction is very sudden and noticeable. 

Just like she expected, the remark hits him right in his misogynistic, sexist chest. It seems that he can’t handle the insult of being called a girl. His jaw tightens, his smile falling off his face completely. His own lips stretch into a snarl, jutting out crooked bottom teeth. 

“You think you’re funny?” he asks, a bite to his tone. She nods sweetly, which only serves to infuriate him. “Well, I think that you’re a good for nothing daughter of a cold-blooded murderer—“ 

At the mention of her father, Hope loses all restraint and pounces at Paul, only for one of her teammates to pull her back. When she turns around to shake them off, she meets the pleading gaze of Jo Victoire. Ryan stands next to her, his own eyes burning a hole into Paul, before they widen dramatically. 

Hope twists her body back around to find the reason. 

Surprisingly enough, or maybe not surprisingly at all, Penelope Park has her bat raised behind the Gryffindor seeker with the clear intent to harm. In a matter of seconds, Hope clearly sees that many of her teammates have turned absolutely ballistic—maybe from the revelation that they’ve lost their last game together this season. 

Penelope herself doesn’t even hesitate before swinging her bat right at Paul’s head, who stumbles forward with his neck bowed down from the hit. 

Taking the opportunity while he’s distracted, Rose Nicot jumps on the boy’s back, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, and then squeezing with a boa constrictor’s grip. 

The rest of the Gryffindor team soon join in on the fight as their precious seeker begins to grow purple from lack of oxygen. Jo releases Hope with a short apology as she starts to wrestle with an opposing chaser. Milton Greasley himself charges at the pureblood with what she thinks might be a misplaced sense of duty. She sidesteps him smoothly enough. 

“Switch?” Hope cocks her head up at Rose, pointing her thumb behind her to Milton, who is almost disorientated. He can’t seem to understand that his attack had been easily evaded. 

Rose nods, dropping her hands from around Paul’s neck and falling to the ground with a light thud. The seeker flounders about and gasps for air, but Hope doesn’t allow any to reach his lungs, instead grabbing for the back of his neck and sending a knee to his torso. 

Utter chaos devolves around the pureblood as she thoroughly deals with the Gryffindor seeker. For instance, Penelope Park somehow manages to break her bat into splinters by hitting people with it, and Ryan Clarke—ever the improviser—is using his broomstick as a makeshift bat. 

It’s not like Gryffindor isn’t being just as dirty, though. In fact, Rafael Waithe has just picked up the golden snitch left forgotten on the ground, now attempting to stuff it down Ryan’s throat as the Slytherin beats him with his broomstick. 

All of them ignore Madame Hooch, who is currently blowing her whistle hysterically—to no avail—even though it seemed that she could not remember how to earlier. 

“Eat dirt, shithead,” Jo curses as she forces a random chaser’s head into the grass, cackling wildly with a sadistic grin on her face. Hope glances over and chuckles herself, which proves an unfortunate mistake. Her diverted attention allows Paul to tackle her to the ground, sending her head spinning. 

After what seems like minutes on end of fighting, Professor McGonagall stomps her way down from the bleachers, picking up the skirt of her robes in a flurry. 

“ENOUGH!” she bellows, catching everyone’s attention. Paul’s fist—held a foot away from Hope’s face—stills, and the Gryffindor seeker hurriedly gets off of her from where they’re tangled on the ground as everyone rushes to compose themselves. 

“Fifty house points from Slytherin and Gryffindor alike!” she continues, the wrinkles on her face more prominent when she rubs tiredly at her eyes. Hope splutters slightly, unable able to fully comprehend what’s just happened through the thick hammering of her her skull against her brain. “Congratulations, you’ve all just lost your Hogsmeade privileges!” 

“Gryffindor, back to your common room,” she says, sternly, before casting her gaze at the other students on the pitch. Hope furrows her eyebrows, not liking the decisive glint in the woman’s eye very much. “Slytherin, to my office. Now!” 

—

Hope taps her foot outside of Professor McGonagall’s office, feeling a deep sense of deja vu. She can’t help but remember the last time she had earned her place here, back when she and Josie had nearly tried to kill each other in a duel. 

_ Hey, whatever happened to the dueling club, anyways?  _

Hope shakes off her thoughts, the reality of the morning finally sinking in. Still, she can’t believe that they actually lost. It doesn’t seem very real, yet it’s clear in the way that most of her team now has their heads in their hands. 

Hope’s own hands are clenched at her sides, anger pulsing throughout her entire body. If only she had been a little quicker, a little _faster_, than maybe she could have gotten to the snitch before Paul. She can’t believe that she had allowed him to even catch sight of it in the first place. 

Her father would think her pathetic. He would be embarrassed to hear about this, most definitely beyond angered. In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never lost a game while being the captain. This is just another thing he can hold over Hope when he visits for the ball soon. 

“What’s taking so long?” Penelope says at last, breaking the silence. It’s true. It had been a solid ten minutes since McGonagall had hauled their asses from the quidditch pitch to her office, and she still hasn’t called them inside yet. 

“McGonagall’s probably letting us stew so we can worry ourselves out of our minds,” Rose suggests, running a nervous hand through her hair, shoulders deflated in defeat. Hope imagines that she is particularly upset, since she had played an amazing game earlier—all for nothing. 

“No,” Hope shakes her head, deciding to insert her own opinion. “I say, she’s taking the proper time to think of a fitting punishment.” 

“This is so unfair,” Jo whines, leaning against a statue. “How can she punish us and not Gryffindor?” 

“She’s their head of house,” Penelope explains needlessly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Duh.” 

The girl then turns around from where she’s facing the set of doors, fixing her gaze on Hope, something in her eyes decidedly resolute. 

“If anything,” she adds, “you should storm in there and take all the blame.” 

Rose and Jo freeze, already sensing the incoming fight. Ryan, who is studying a plotted plant in the corner, laughs underneath his breath. 

“Take all the blame?” Hope bristles, unable to hide the scowl stretching her lips. She crosses her arms and mirrors Penelope’s position. “You started the fight.” 

Her voice is too thick with emotion to be steady, and her argument isn’t very convincing, considering the dried blood covering the entire lower portion of her face. Hope seriously needs to clean that sooner or later...

“You lost us the game!” Penelope snaps, an explosion of rage and grief. In the corner, Ryan looks up and stops laughing. 

Hope herself steps back, shock biting into her features like a cold wind. She hadn’t thought anyone would actually call her out for it. Guilt shoots through her like a dizzy spell. 

“Excuse me?” she breathes, the pounding in her head from earlier coming back much worse. 

“You might as well have not shown up,” Penelope goes on. Hope suddenly feels very, very faint. “Playing seeker like that. It’s no secret that you were distracted. I don’t think I saw you looking for the snitch once.” 

“What are you implying?” The pureblood bites the inside of her cheek, resisting the impulse to glance away. No. She won’t show weakness. 

“That your attention was elsewhere,” the other girl answers, a bit reluctantly. Then, she loses all pretense of caution. “I mean, let’s face it, you were more invested in the stands than in the game. You couldn’t seem to stop looking at the Gryffindor section, and I think that you let those bloody lions get to you. I also think that you’re a right hypocrite for lecturing the rest of us on staying concentrated when you couldn’t even manage it yourself. We all worked the hardest we ever have today. For Merlin’s sake, Nicot blocked more than three goals—no offense—and Clarke and Victoire made six each. Whereas, you couldn’t even be bothered to notice that Matthias saw the snitch. A good seeker should always know to watch out for that, at least. You have a responsibility to this team, Mikaelson, and you failed us.” 

“Don’t fucking talk to me about _responsibility_,” Hope snarls, barely being able to hold herself back, just itching to start another fight. Halfway through Penelope’s little speech, she had already been so close to tearing the other girl to bits and pieces. 

Yet, a part of Hope knows that Penelope is right—that there actually is some truth to her words, even if the girl doesn’t know the reality of the situation. 

The pureblood _had_ been too busy staring at the Gryffindor section for Josie throughout the entire game. She had allowed herself to get distracted by the muggleborn, and she had let Clara and Alyssa’s comments get to her. 

She _is_ a hypocrite, she realizes. Looking back at the game, Hope can’t think of a single instance where she had actively searched for the snitch. She can only really remember the image of Josie’s smile, comforting then, but only mocking and taunting Hope now. 

How could she have let this happen? 

How could she have allowed her team’s hard work to go in vain? 

She should have been better. 

Maybe if she had not cancelled practice last night, she would have caught the snitch. Maybe—

She shouldn’t have messed around with Josie so soon before a match either. Yes. If she had chosen instead to spend that time planning out strategies and thinking about quidditch, her team would have won. 

If her head had been in the game instead of the gutter, _she would have caught the snitch and her team would have won_. 

Moving forward, she won’t let this happen again. She won’t ever cancel a practice for something as childish and silly as a date. She will prioritize her teammates—her friends that she’s known for years—before someone she just met two months ago...

“She’s won us all our other games, though!” Rose shouts, throwing her hands out in front of her to gesture furiously. Hope finally snaps out of her thoughtful reverie, only to discover that Rose and Penelope are now arguing. “You can’t let this one match define her ability to lead us!” 

“Yes, I _can_!” Penelope declares, a bit petulantly. A deep, heavy sigh comes from the corner. 

“This really isn’t all that serious,” Ryan drawls, the look in his eye something Hope can’t completely interpret. Penelope rolls her own eyes, ready with a retort, but Ryan doesn’t let her speak. 

“While losing may seem like the end of the world to children such as yourselves,” he continues, leaning away from the plant he had been examining. His eyes seem to darken once again as he gives them all another uninterpretable look. “In the grand scheme of things, you’ll quickly see that quidditch does not matter very much.” 

He flicks away a smudge of dirt on his shoulder rather nonchalantly. Everyone else chooses to ignore the flagrant, offended expression on Jo’s face, who had planned to play quidditch professionally after graduation. 

“At least, not truly.” 

Hope finds herself not really liking the air of superiority and omniscience the boy is giving off. She suppresses the deep impulse to roll her eyes like Penelope had. 

“Yes,” he lowers his voice, almost contemplatively. His eyes narrow at nothing, the first clue that his thoughts are consuming him. When he speaks, his voice is the roughness of gravel against sand. “I think you’ll see that very, _very_ soon.” 

“What the fuck are you going on about this time, Clayboy?” Penelope groans, palming her forehead in exasperation as she leans against a wall. 

“Mikaelson,” Ryan says—so, so suddenly that Hope’s breath catches in her throat. All heads turn to her. The boy tilts his own to the side, and Hope thinks that she can read him just fine now. “You can already see it. Can’t you?” 

Hope holds his gaze, a mantra of _weakness, weakness, weakness_ thudding a beat into her head like a pulse. When she inhales, the air feels too hot and too cool all at once. 

_ Malivore Clarke has taken an interest in you. _

Hope freezes, torn between telling Ryan that she sees it perfectly clearly, and telling him to fuck off. Just when she decides on the latter, two pairs of footsteps come from down the hallway, one pair decidedly light and one decidedly _not_. 

Professor Snape and Ethan appear nearly out of thin air, the younger male trailing behind the older one. Snape has a deep frown set into his face, his casual robes billowing behind him. Ethan himself is still in his quidditch uniform, as are the rest of his team. 

Speaking of his team, they all turn to look at the pair as they approach. Hope absentmindedly wonders if he knows that they lost the match yet. She thinks that maybe he does when his face scrunches up at the small detail that no one can look him in the eye completely. 

“What did you guys do?” he whispers loudly when he passes them, still following Snape as the man enters McGonagall’s office. The professor slams the door behind him, right in Ethan’s face, effectively trapping him out and leaving him to pout with the rest of the group. 

“How’s Maya?” Penelope kicks off the wall she had been previously leaning against, her concern evident in her tone. 

“Asleep,” Ethan clips, the usual light in his eyes diminished some. Yet, he seems almost...casual. Almost dismissive. “She broke her arm, or something.” 

“What a great brother you are,” Jo deadpans, quietly enough that Ethan pretends not to hear her. He opens his mouth, a bite hopefully, intent on asking—

“We lost,” Hope answers, exhausted. Ethan gulps and looks away, blinking quickly. The pureblood briefly imagines that he’s trying not to cry. The pureblood is pretty sure that—between the end of the game and now—they had all lost _that_ particular battle, one way or another. 

“Come in,” McGonagall’s voice calls them inside her office not a moment later, the door swinging open on its own magically. Hope is the last to enter. 

“Did we say you could sit?” Snape whacks Penelope on the head with a random book as she tries to sit down. She frowns but stands back up, looking forlornly at the comfortable armchair she had planned to make herself comfortable in. 

“To be frank,” McGonagall starts, her gaze sweeping over the students sternly. “Your behavior was appalling. This is a magic school, not a fight club.” 

The professor pauses, adjusting some sort of purple object on her desk. 

“And for Salazar’s sake, girl.” Snape sighs, waving his wand and swishing it across Hope’s face, ridding her skin of dried blood and dirt. She has the decency to look ashamed. 

“While we understand the strong emotions that can arise from such a...demoralizing loss,” McGonagall goes on, pursing her lips. “It is no excuse for starting a—rather—childish brawl with your peers. For this reason, we must discipline you all accordingly.” 

“Are you going to discipline your own house accordingly?” Hope speaks up, finding the woman’s words a little unreasonable. Is McGonagall really so blind? “It’s not like Gryffindor is completely innocent in all this. What of _their_ punishment?” 

“You can trust that Minerva will deal with the Gryffindor team in good time,” Snape supplies, inclining his head towards the Transfiguration professor. “Can I trust that you not doubt your own head of house, Miss Mikaelson?” 

“Of course, sir.” 

Hope sets her jaw, trying her best not to openly glare at the man. 

Snape only makes a humming noise at the back of his throat. Hope runs her tongue along her teeth in irritation, stilling her leg before she can stop tapping her foot again. Her patience really is running thin. “After every game, the stadium has a tendency to be left—let me be clear—a complete and utter mess. Trash and sports paraphernalia litter the stands, broom splinters sully the field...” 

The pureblood doesn’t like where this is going. 

“Usually,” McGonagall adds. “A staff member stays behind and uses an array of cleaning charms to tidy up after your classmates. Today, you five will do just that. Of course, the exception being, you cannot use magic.” 

Penelope audibly curses. 

“Hand over your wands, please.” 

“We don’t have them,” Rose cuts in, before Hope can foolishly dig into her pocket for a wand she isn’t carrying, forgetting that she had stored it away in her bag earlier. Decades ago, the Ministry Department of Magical Games and Sports had ruled that wands be barred on the pitch, after a fatal incident with a stinging hex to the chest. “We put them away in the locker room before the match.” 

“Right.” McGonagall nods. “With that out of the way, your punishment will conclude when you finish cleaning the stadium. Do not think us naive. Professor Snape and I will go over your work when you are done. If we discover that even a single inch of space has been overlooked or neglected, this incident will go straight to the headmaster. And I would like to think that my idea of discipline is preferable to his.” 

Penelope and Hope quickly nod, their eyes meeting in agreement. It appears that the same instance comes to mind for the both of them:

That one unfortunate night in fourth year where they had decided to ditch one of McGonagall’s detentions, only to spend the next weekend hand-sorting Dumbledore’s collection of jellybeans by color. 

“Does anyone have any questions?” She gives them not a second to ask any. Hope chuckles silently, an incredulous smirk on her face. “Good. If that’s all...I suggest you five get on your way at the earliest opportunity, if you wish to complete your task by nightfall.” 

At the clear dismissal, everyone moves to leave the room, each plagued by their own separate thoughts. Hope, once again, is the last one out the door. 

She scoffs underneath her breath as her friends make it out into the hallway outside, all walking dejectedly in a single-file line. _Complete our task? Like this is some after school project? _

This is not how she had pictured her day going at all. Since the earliest hours of the morning, she thought she would spend it celebrating with her teammates and Josie. Instead, she’ll be picking up trash with them and she doesn’t know when she’ll see the muggleborn next. 

She distantly wonders if Josie is celebrating with her Gryffindor friends. She also wonders if this had been the other girl’s plan all along—to distract the pureblood so that she would play poorly in the match and condemn her team to losing. 

Hope loses herself in these types of dangerous, self-pitying thoughts for the next few minutes. She follows her other teammates aimlessly as they start the trip to the quidditch stadium, slowing down several feet behind them in contemplation. 

Do all her teammates hate her now? Does Rose hate her? Does Rose think that she’s betrayed them? Has Hope mindlessly allowed herself to put a girl above her team? 

Just as the pureblood rounds an empty corridor, a hand tightens around her arm with a death-grip vice and pulls her into a nearby supply closet. She immediately struggles against her kidnapper. 

“Unhand me this instant or I will personally make certain you spend the rest of your days in Azkaban...” Hope’s words fall away as she realizes that her kidnapper is not exactly a kidnapper, but Josie Saltzman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should be back with another chapter in a couple of hours, this one was getting too long lol so i had to cut it off somehow. also, next chapter is a bit angsty, so i apologize in advance


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t read if you don’t like angst. if you do read, i promise it’s necessary for where i’m taking the story

The dim lights flicker on. 

“_Oh_.” Hope sucks in a ragged breath, willing her heart to stop beating so quickly. She thinks that it might find a way to pound itself out of her chest if Josie keeps this up. “Sorry.” 

The muggleborn does not look very bothered, if only a little amused. She simply blinks, her eyes big with something akin to concern. “Hey, what happened?” 

What kind of question is that? Josie had been there to see everything at the game. Surely, that included seeing Hope lose _and_ seek out a fight with Gryffindor. 

Is the other girl just searching for more information so she can go running back to her insolent friends and tell them everything? 

The pureblood drops her eyes down as the brunette’s hand drifts down her arm and laces her fingers with Hope’s gloved ones. The gesture should be soothing, but Hope feels the touch like a burn instead. 

She pulls away, if only to put the flames out. 

Hope pretends not to see the flash of hurt on the other girl’s face. If she also pretends that it doesn’t reflect on her own, no one has to know that but her. 

“Nothing.” She reaches for the handle of the door, turning her back on Josie. Why does she suddenly feel so upset? So..._angry_? “I-I have to go.” 

The muggleborn pulls her back before she can even turn the handle. “Wait—“ 

“Really, Josie.” Hope sighs tiredly. She should be with her team. The least she can do is clean up the mess she made. In more ways than one. “I don’t have time for this.” 

Again, when she tries for the handle, Josie stops her. 

“We _have_ time,” she says, the knit of her eyebrows beyond worried. Hope almost feels bad. She almost apologizes. Yet, sorry doesn’t come so freely in times like this. “Are you okay?” 

Hope actually laughs. Josie has to be joking. 

“Am I okay?” Hope repeats, numb and steaming. She imagines that smoke is blowing out of her ears. She imagines that she can shoot lasers out of her eyes. She imagines that the blood in her body has turned to molten lava. “Is that an honest question?” 

Josie cocks her head to the side and stares back, surprised at the unexpected outburst. 

Her obliviousness proves too much for Hope to handle. She whirls on Josie, her eyes on fire. 

“I have to spend the rest of my day cleaning up the quidditch pitch for punishment while your Gryffindor besties get off scot free!” 

The second the words come out of Hope’s mouth, she longs to take them back. Such a feat isn’t very easy, though, and she allows her regret to suffocate the space between them. 

“Stop.” Josie shakes her head with disbelief, but her words are firm. “You’re mad that you lost the game and now you’re trying to take it out on me.” 

Hope shakes her head, too. She finds herself itching to start another fight. “No. _You_ stop.” 

“Maybe I’m not mad at the game,” she snaps, her lips curled into an insufferable sneer. Habits are hard to drop. “Maybe I am mad at you. Maybe we would have won if you hadn’t been distracting me. Maybe none of this would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.” 

Josie laughs wetly, her eyes like glass. Hearing the pain in her voice when she speaks makes Hope’s lungs rattle painfully. “Oh, so I’m a distraction now? 

No. _No_. Of course not. 

“Yes.” 

Two hands push against her shoulders, the girl across from her beyond livid. 

“I can’t believe you!” she whisper-yells, shrinking back into herself and all but attacking Hope at the same time. Her words crack at the very edges. “How can you say that?” 

“It’s simple, actually,” Hope tells her, matter-of-fact. But it’s not simple. It is so, so difficult. Everything inside of her is screaming to stop talking, but she can’t. 

She hates how easily these ugly, vile words can come out of her mouth. She hates how easily she can hide the emotion on her face. She hates how easily she can hurt Josie. 

“I used to win every game, before we started whatever _this_—“ 

Hope motions between the two of them.

“—is. My teammates trusted me, at the very least, but now I don’t even have that. They’ve begun doubting me, and they’re right! My thoughts should have been with them completely, and it’s more apparent than ever that they weren’t.” She takes a deep breath, the set of her shoulders deflating when she exhales. A corner of her lips snaps down in undeniable anguish. 

She parodies Penelope’s words from earlier. 

“It’s no secret that I lost us the game. I never should have cancelled practice last night. I shouldn’t have ever missed any at all, not for detention. Not for...” Her vision blurs with tears, so thoroughly that she can’t see an inch in front of her. Her throat closes up with emotion, so thickly that swallowing holds no relief. 

The pureblood looks up to the ceiling, blinking quickly to stop her tears from falling. After a moment, her eyes dry up. Her resolve does the same. 

“I—I just shouldn’t have. I can’t help thinking that I would be better off...” Hope trails off again, unsure of finishing her sentence once more. She can’t help thinking that this feels a lot like making another mistake. 

No. She needs to be strong. For her team. It’s better this way.

“Without me?” Josie finishes for her. Her voice sounds oddly detached. Strangely indifferent. “Because I’m a distraction.” 

Hope watches her carefully, wondering what the fuck they’re doing. A large part of her wants to press the other girl up against the wall and relive this morning. But she can’t. That would be a betrayal to her teammates. 

Yes. Hope won’t betray them. In fact, she needs to end this conversation as quickly as possible. Apologizing and begging for Josie’s forgiveness will take hours. 

She also needs to follow after her teammates before they realize something is wrong. Before they realize that she’s put someone else above them once again. 

“Yes,” Hope says emotionlessly, hoping that her voice is as even as she wants it to be. If her chest suddenly grows cold and empty, she doesn’t dare shiver.

“You really want to ruin this over a silly game?” 

What Hope really wants is one last kiss. The phantom feeling of Josie’s lips against hers is too strong to resist. What she really wants is one last hug, one last touch, one last _everything_. She wants one last forever. 

Hope tries to summon the will to shake her head, but it feels much like trying to move stone. She stays silent and screaming all at once. 

“Okay.” Josie gives her one last look instead of everything else she really wants, pulling the door open with shaking hands. 

She storms away, leaving the pureblood with the sick feeling that she’s just lost the greatest thing to ever happen to her. 

—

Rose Nicot looks up at the steadily darkening sky, her teammates scattered around in the bleachers and field. It’s been a couple of hours since they started cleaning up the stadium, and Rose’s trash bag is almost full. 

“Here,” Ethan walks up to her from a couple of feet away, maybe somehow sensing her full bag or perhaps he’s just been watching her for a while now. 

He hands her another bag, that crooked smile she adores so much stretched across his lips. Her stomach flutters with a combination of nerves and excitement. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, tying off her first bag and throwing it carelessly on the ground. She silently tells herself to remember to pick it up later so she won’t get in trouble. 

“No problem,” Ethan says, bumping his broad shoulders with hers. She nearly trips in surprise, a high-pitched laugh coming out of her mouth. It cuts off sharply when she accidentally makes eye contact with a brooding Penelope across the stands. 

The other girl shoots daggers back at her, determined not to have any fun during the extent of their punishment. 

“She’s a real downer, isn’t she?” Ethan whispers, smirking slightly. He reaches out below them, picking up a red and gold flag with his trash stick and inserting it into his own bag. 

Rose nods, scanning the floor of the bleachers for anything she can pick up. “Believe me, I get why she’s miserable, I just _don’t_ get why she has to bring the rest of us down with her.” 

“Exactly,” Ethan agrees, looking somewhere distantly. Rose follows his line of vision, her gaze stopping short on the sight of Hope kicking at the ground angrily. “Mikaelson’s the same way right now, too. I tried to talk to her earlier and she stabbed me with her stick thingy.” 

Rose tilts her head to the side as the boy rubs at his abdomen absentmindedly. She makes a quick note to talk to the other girl later. “Why are you here, anyways?”

It’s a good question. He could much better spend his time looking over his sister in the hospital wing, or getting his homework done. Why _is_ he here? A small, selfish part of Rose greedily hopes that his presence is only for her. 

“You don’t _have_ to help,” she adds, to prove her point. 

Ethan stops climbing the stands, then, looking at her peculiarly enough that she stops moving, too. Rose stares back at him, wondering—thrillingly—if one of them is about to admit what’s been going on between them lately. 

The moment passes when Ethan looks away, squinting his eyes as he thinks. Rose sighs quietly, disappointed. Maybe they’ll never talk about it. 

“I want to,” Ethan decides on, not quite meeting her gaze. For a very long minute, Rose finds herself wishing that he would look at her, that he would let her see the brown color of his eyes that sometimes—just sometimes—Rose could swear was _not_ brown, but green. 

It’s fine. If he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s fine. Really. They can act like a couple all they want without actually being one. If Ethan doesn’t want to talk about it, Rose won’t either. 

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe, when it inevitably gets out that Rose isn’t completely pure of blood, it will be easier if the two of them never started anything in the first place. 

“So,” Rose starts, trying to make conversation amidst all the awkwardness. “Have you thought about who you’re taking to the ball?” 

The words are innocent enough, except the slightly uplifting tone to her voice gives her away. Ethan pauses, before shaking his head almost carefully. 

“Not really,” he admits. It’s no secret that Rose and him can’t go together. He doesn’t know that they actually _could_ if Rose was just a bit braver. “I’m still waiting my turn in line to ask Saltzman, honestly. It’s become somewhat of a competition between Maya and I. You know how my parents are with house rivalry. ‘Make ole Salazar proud’ and all that...” 

“Saltzman?” Rose turns away before he can see the wide, panicked look in her eyes. 

“Yeah?” Too late. 

He doesn’t seem to miss the way she glances at Hope, either. Rose valiantly searches for something to say. 

“I mean, doesn’t it bother you?” Again, the tone of her voice is too high-pitched and suspicious to be convincing. Ethan is also too smart to let it go. 

“That she’s muggleborn, you mean?” he inquires, slowly enough for her to stop breathing. She nods, still not facing him. That small, selfish part of her rises back up with a vengeance. 

“Better that than a Gryffindor,” Ethan jokes, and Rose lets out the breath she had been holding. Still, she can’t read between his words—she can’t figure out if he _really_ means them. 

“True.” She finally faces him, a weird flush to her cheeks. Can she stop being so damn transparent for once? It’s getting pretty exhausting. 

“But I think Mikaelson’s taking her, isn’t she?” Rose attempts casually. She watches Hope out of the corner of her eye, thinking that she’s about to do the other girl the biggest favor in the wizarding world. 

“Hope asked Saltzman?” Ethan’s mouth falls open, and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. “And she agreed?” 

Rose gulps loudly. None of that happened. “Yes,” she lies. 

“What the fuck?!” 

The pair turn around to meet the shocked expression of Penelope behind them. Rose drops her stick in similar surprise, grabbing onto Ethan with the hand not holding her bag before she can fall off the stands. 

Her mind swarms, wondering how the girl got here so quickly when Rose last saw her a fair distance away. 

When Rose gulps loudly again, her throat bobsjust enough for Penelope to notice and consequently overreact. She immediately stalks down the stands to where Hope is still kicking at the ground in the middle of the field. 

Rose and Ethan exchange a worried look and follow after the girl all the way down the large stairway—hot on her heels, but not nearly fast enough. 

“Pen, wait!” Rose calls after her, but Penelope is already swaggering up to Hope in quick, long strides. 

“You asked Saltzman out to the ball?” she asks, loudly. Nearby, Ryan and Jo lift their heads up from mindlessly poking the ground for broom splinters. “And she said _yes_?” 

Hope cocks her head to the side, obviously confused. Behind Penelope’s shoulder, Rose desperately tries to gesture out an explanation or apology to the Mikaelson heir. Hope suddenly pretends to be blind. Rose now _desperately_ wants to slap her. 

“What?” 

“I forbid you to take her,” Penelope says as she gets in the other girl’s face, pushing against Hope’s shoulders heatedly. For her part, Hope doesn’t budge an inch. 

“I beg your pardon?” She arches a single eyebrow, her jaw twitching. 

“She’s mine,” Penelope snarls, so firmly that Rose takes a step back and bumps into Ethan behind her. He places a kind, helping hand on her shoulder in return. 

Rose doesn’t even register it, unable to believe that Penelope actually just said that out loud. She has never once seen the other girl that angry, even though Penelope has been particularly _moody_ this year. 

To Rose, this looks like a lot more than just Penelope staking a claim. It looks—well, it looks a lot like jealously. Except, that _can’t_ be right...

Why would Penelope Park get jealous over a muggleborn? No. It’s impossible. 

Unfortunately, Hope chooses to laugh in Penelope’s face. She even clutches at her stomach as she does so, the bright look in her eyes mocking and only infuriating Penelope further. 

The girl pulls back her lips, baring white teeth, forming nasty words on the tip of a sharp tongue. Rose watches as she clenches her quivering fists. 

“She. Is. Mine.” 

Hope’s laughter stops abruptly enough for her to choke on it. She freezes, as does Rose and everyone else. Her smile slips off her face, her lips thinning like ice. 

“But you hate her.” Hope’s voice comes out disbelieving, breathless. Her chest rises and falls, heaving with the intensity of the moment. Penelope’s does the same. 

Rose closes her mouth when she realizes that it’s been gaping open for the past few seconds or so. She elbows Ethan next to her to close his own. 

“S-so?” Rose doesn’t think she has ever seen Penelope stutter before, either. 

“_So_,” Hope repeats, her eyes narrowed enough that Rose fears she might glare a hole into the girl across from her. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

Rose doesn’t really know what happens after that. All she can honestly remember is the two staring each other down for about a minute or so before they started to beat each other with their separate trash bags. 

It’s not like they have their wands anyways, Rose realizes, so clearly trash bags are the next step. 

Penelope gets the upper hand pretty quickly, since she has a particularly heavy object in her bag—Rose thinks it might be a brick?—that knocks the air out of Hope’s lungs when she gets hit in the side. 

The Mikaelson heir topples to the grass, wheezing, gasping, struggling for air. Penelope doesn’t blink before throwing herself on top of the girl, her hands raised in the air with the bag. She then opens it and dumps the contents all over Hope’s face. 

Rose observes that Hope doesn’t seem to like that very much. She bucks Penelope off of her and reverses their positions, reaching out with her left hand to grab her own trash bag, which she had dropped when she fell. 

She pins the other girl down with her knees and waves the bag around like a maniac, emptying it out onto the grass and then tugging it down towards Penelope. 

Rose startles forward when she realizes what Hope is doing. 

“She’s going to strangle her!” she yells, running over to the pair and encouraging her other friends to do the same. Together, they manage to separate Hope and Penelope just as the former manages to drag the bag over the latter’s head. 

“You tried to kill me!” Penelope fans her face, which is a terrifying red color. 

Ever the smart aleck, Hope only arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “So?” 

At the reference to their previous conversation, Penelope eyes the deflated bag on the floor with longing, as if she wants to beat Hope with it again. Maybe the wisest of the group, Rose grabs Hope’s shoulders and guides her to one side of the pitch as Jo does the same with Penelope a moment later.

“What the hell was that?” Rose pushes her, not enough to start a fight but enough to convey her meaning. “Were you and Park seriously fighting over a girl?” 

Hope lets herself be pushed, crosses her arms, and then shakes her head—an action that isn’t entirely convincing to Rose. She duly notices that her friend’s fingers are gripping tightly at the points of her elbows, almost as if cold. 

“I don’t know where she got the idea that I’m taking Saltzman,” Hope tells Rose, her gaze to the ground. When Rose listens closely, she hears the girl’s chest doing some kind of weird rumbling sound, almost like she’s growling. “But she needed to pay for speaking against me like that.” 

Rose rolls her eyes, knowing Hope can’t see. Sometimes, that girl can be so unbearable to talk to. “_I_ gave her the idea.” 

“You _what_?” Hope turns to her, eyes flashing up in dramatic betrayal. Rose tries not to roll her eyes again. 

“Ethan wanted to ask your secret, little lesbian lover to the ball,” she explains. Hope punches her in the shoulder. “You know how persistent he is, so being the good friend I am, I attempted to steer him away from even trying. For your sake, of course. Then, Penelope overheard.” 

“Oh,” Hope says, suddenly sounding a lot less mad about it. Rose wonders where her head is right now. Ever since the game, she’s been unusually quiet and withdrawn, except for the moments she takes to argue with Penelope. 

Rose imagines that she’s blaming herself for the game. Not that _Rose_ is, though, but she can’t help but feel sad about it. The game against Gryffindor had been one of the best she ever played in her entire school career. 

Rose can only _really_ blame Madame Hooch’s biased refereeing. What happened to Maya was clearly illegal, and now the girl has to suffer in the hospital wing all alone while her teammates complete this asinine form of punishment. 

“I screwed up,” Hope tells her, after a little while. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I think—I think she hates me now.” 

Rose blanks. Are they talking about Penelope or Josette now? 

“Who?” 

Hope gives her a look. Josette, then. 

“Oh, _that_ ‘she.’” Rose smirks, enjoying herself a tad too much. ”Forgive me for having the nerve to ask.” 

Hope makes a pathetic whining noise at the back of her throat. “Merlin, she won’t ever forgive me.” 

Rose raises her eyebrows and hands her trash bag and stick over to the girl, noticing that Hope hasn’t been doing any work the entire time they’ve been talking. “Your turn.” 

Hope wrinkles her nose in distaste as she sniffs the bag, careful to touch the cleanest part of it. “Why did my bag smell so much worse than yours does?” 

She throws a glance behind her shoulder to her old trash bag. 

Rose briefly examines her own, putting her hands on her hips and wiping off the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. How is it still so hot out? The sky is dark enough that she can see the moon now. “Maybe because mine is nearly empty.” 

That seems to make Hope woefully sad once again. 

She lets out another pathetic noise. “My heart is empty.” 

Rose ignores her. They really need to finish their punishment so they can get back to the castle. She is done with spending all of her time in a quidditch pitch now. She thinks that she might actually quit the team after this. 

“Hey, don’t forget that chocolate frog wrapper behind you,” Rose points out. “McGonagall might—“

“_Aww_,” Hope cuts her off, a lovesick smile on her face that nearly makes Rose throw up. The halfblood decides to pick up the wrapper herself, since it doesn’t look like the other girl will anytime soon. “She smells like chocolate.” 

Fine. Rose stops inspecting the ground for trash. It looks like Hope really wants to talk about this. It looks like Rose will have to be the one to talk about this with her. “Did you two break up or something? You seemed fine this morning.”

Rose looks off into the distance, remembering the compromising position she had found Hope and Josette in earlier. She had been meaning to ask her where she could get a bra like the muggleborn’s. 

“More than fine, actually,” she adds, giggling a little. Hope chooses not to hear that. 

“I don’t know,” she mutters, lifting her shoulders slightly. She leads the both of them back up the staircase to the stands. The field is nearly clear of any trash and debris now. Their time is better spent in the bleachers. “Can you break up with someone you never officially asked out?” 

“You never asked her out?” Rose whistles before she can stop the sound from coming out. Hope blatantly glowers at her. “No wonder she’s upset at you.” 

“Surprisingly enough,” Hope says, a sad smirk on her face. “That’s not what she’s upset about this time. I...I made the mistake of calling her a distraction.” 

Damn. Hope really _is_ an absolute moron. She can’t imagine what she would do if Ethan called her that. She knows that she would feel impossibly hurt, though. 

“Did you apologize?” 

Hope doesn’t meet her eyes. “She didn’t give me time to.” 

It sounds like an obvious lie. “I’m sure she did.” 

“You’re right,” Hope admits. “She did.” 

A pause. A halt in time. Complete silence, then...

“I’m a coward. I don’t deserve her.” 

Rose scoffs, not liking the road they’ve gone down. They’re all cowards, for God—Merlin’s sake. They’re fucking _Slytherins_. “Stop being dramatic. It’s simple. Just apologize and ask her out. Show her that she’s not a distraction.” 

“How?” Rose might actually murder Hope if she continues to act this clueless and stupid. 

“Taking her to the ball would be a good first step,” she suggests slowly, as if talking to a toddler who only just learned the alphabet. 

“No.” Her words get shot down extremely quickly for the time she took to deliver them. Hope begins to react like Rose just told her to take all her clothes off and run around the field naked. “No. No, I can’t. I can’t do that.” 

Rose doesn’t see another option. The whole team thinks the poor muggleborn and Hope are going together. Pretty soon, the rest of the school will, too. 

“Why not?” She blinks. “You literally just got into an entire fight about it—which ended with us having to pull you and Penelope apart, might I add.” 

“You don’t understand.” Hope doesn’t want to hear it. She can’t seem to hear anything past her own close-minded, unforgiving thoughts. “My family might hurt her. I won’t allow it.” 

“Might,” Rose makes sure to emphasize. It doesn’t faze the other girl in the slightest. 

“There’s hope for you yet, Mikaelson,” Rose adds, teasing. Hope actually drops her head forward and whines. Rose nearly grabs the trash bag from her and strangles the pureblood herself. “Just ask her.” 

“Why don’t you ask _Ethan_?” Hope deflects. Rose allows the subject to change with reluctance. 

“He doesn’t know that I’m not...” She lowers her voice, her breath getting stuck in her throat all the same. “That I’m not one of you.” 

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? Rose is a...poser. A _faker_. What good are all the etiquette classes and blood tradition lessons in the world if she isn’t—

“You _are_ one of us.” Hope holds her gaze, steady and reassuring. “Never say that again. I don’t care, and I don’t think Machado would either.” 

Thinking and knowing are two very different things. It’s enough to make Rose nearly tremble in fear. 

“Even if I do ask him,” she says, “won’t it be odd if I show up with him to the ball? Won’t people..._wonder_?” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess so.” Hope looks away thoughtfully, before turning back to Rose with a wry expression on her face. Rose doesn’t like it at all. “Maybe you can pass Ethan off as the halfblood?” 

Rose shoots the other girl a heated glare, showing her exactly what she thinks of that idea. 

“I’m joking, damn.” Hope lays a hand over her wounded heart. They climb the bleachers in silence for a couple of minutes, both filling the trash bag with random items they find. 

Rose snaps her head up when Hope oddly stops moving. 

“Is your family coming?” the pureblood asks, almost nervously. It gives Rose pause for more reasons than one. “To the ball?” 

“No.” She doesn’t particularly want to relive the agony of thinking about the letter her father had sent her, but she doesn’t want to shut out Hope, either. “Dad cancelled. He said he couldn’t put himself through the embarrassment of attending alone.” 

“He has you, doesn’t he?” Hope asks. 

Rose shakes her head, a rueful smile on her lips. When she meets Hope’s eyes, her own are dark and unhappy. 

“It’s not the same anymore,” she says. “Not since...” 

“Nicot! Mikaelson!” Both girls shoot their heads down in the direction of the field. Jo stands in the middle, cupping her hands around her mouth to make her voice louder. “We’re done down here if you are!” 

“Alright!” Rose yells back, scanning the stands for anything they might have forgotten. She catches a glimpse of her old, abandoned trash bag nearby. 

Once she picks it up and throws the bag in the large pile they’ve designated for garbage, she follows Hope down the bleachers and back to the path leading to the castle. They remain in contemplative silence as they enter the building, following the rest of the group into a large corridor near the west tower. 

Rose distantly hears the muted sound of blasting music, and she thinks that Gryffindor is probably still celebrating their win. If it had been Slytherin, Rose knows that they would be partying up until the early hours of the morning. 

It’s not like she would have had much fun anyways. Lately, she’s been sort of a buzzkill at parties. In all honesty, she’s completely dreading the winter ball. Why should she even go if her family isn’t coming? 

Things have changed far too much this year. Rose completely hates it. Is she even going home for winter break? Should she just stay at Hogwarts? Will her father allow her to keep her room at the Nicot Manor? 

“Sometimes,” Rose starts, a few minutes into walking. She and Hope have already fallen a couple of feet behind the group. “I think he resents me.” 

Hope looks up from her shoes, so surprised that Rose almost regrets talking. It takes the pureblood a second to collect herself. “Are you kidding? Your father loves you.” 

Rose frowns, her eyebrows knitting together. “Is that enough...?” 

_ Is that enough for us to move past this? _

_   
Is that enough for him to look at me how he used to? _

_ Is that enough?  _

Hope doesn’t answer. 

“Look who we have here!” Penelope’s voice comes, from a few feet away, obnoxious and taunting. Rose and Hope look at each other in confusion, both wondering what the girl is doing this time. 

In resigned haste, they pull themselves to the front of the group, where Penelope stands across from a blonde Gryffindor, who has been backed into the nearest wall. 

Rose recognizes the girl firstly by her sister Josette, and secondly by the few classes she shares with her: 

Elizabeth Saltzman. 

If Rose thinks about it, she can distinctly remember the blonde in her Care of Magical Creatures elective course. She can also remember that Elizabeth and her sister have always seemed to have a tender affinity for animals. 

“_Ugh_.” Elizabeth rolls her eyes, quite obviously. Rose doesn’t know if she was even trying to hide the action. “You sound like every cliched, stereotypical bully ever. Can you be any less creative?” 

The halfblood raises her eyebrows. Rose thinks that she’s pretty brave for someone surrounded by six Slytherins with a vindictive streak. Brave. Either that, or—

“Can you be any less stupid?” Penelope drawls, a derisive sneer on her face. Rose nearly facepalms. She looks to Hope, who is standing much like a shard of frozen ice, her eyes darting between Penelope and Elizabeth with heavily-concealed worry. 

“Again. Proving my point.” Elizabeth even fucking _smiles_ in triumph. Rose wonders if this is all bravado or if the blonde is genuinely like this. If so, she can consider the halfblood impressed.

The next thing Rose notices is the large bottle of alcohol the Gryffindor is now attempting to casually hide down her shirt. Penelope snatches it before Elizabeth can succeed. 

“Goblin-made vodka?” She reads the label, almost excitedly, as the blonde crosses her arms. Rose quietly observes that—although the bottle is closed—Elizabeth reeks of alcohol. Her pupils are blown wide and unfocused, too. 

If the Gryffindor tie she’s using as a belt for her skirt is any indication, the girl is most definitely hammered. She’s doing a good job of not showing it, though. 

Weighing the bottle in her hand, Penelope turns to face Hope, a weird look in her eye that Rose doesn’t entirely approve of. 

“It’s been a long time since we had our fair share of fun in the prank war, don’t you think, Mikaelson?” Penelope says, cocking her head towards Elizabeth and arching an eyebrow suggestively. 

Rose’s stomach turns. What the hell does that mean? They don’t even have their wands. If anything, Elizabeth can just hit them all with a spell and be on her way. Of course, the muggleborn doesn’t know that, though. 

Rose tracks her eyes over Hope’s features, trying to read the tight line of her mouth and the small wrinkle between her eyebrows. She watches—horrified—as Hope nods, almost numbly. 

“What were you thinking?” She inclines her head towards Elizabeth, the set of her jaw stiff and unrelenting. Rose pales. They’re not seriously going to allow harm to come to someone who is flagrantly intoxicated, right? 

“I’m thinking third year, fifth period Potions. With the Levell twins?” Penelope raises the bottle in emphasis. 

Fuck. Rose winces. The Levell twins had nearly gotten expelled for that incident. 

She never thought Hope or Penelope could be so cruel as to try to reinact what happened that day. Sure, they’ve been involved in some questionable pranks over the years, but they’ve never hurt someone that wasn’t completely there for it. 

The halfblood watches Penelope, willing her to glance back and catch her pleading gaze. But Penelope’s looking at Hope, and Hope’s looking at Elizabeth. 

Rose sees the exact moment Hope isn’t going to do the right thing. The pureblood opens her mouth, revenge flashing in her eyes like a torch, and Rose panics. 

“Hold on,” she jumps in. All eyes turn to her in surprise. She swallows, only then remembering herself. Shit. She needs to think of something. Fast.

“Did you guys hear that?” She tilts her head falsely, as if listening for some random sound. Hopefully, it’s late enough that she can get away with this particular lie. 

“Hear what?” Penelope narrows her eyes. 

“Is that a _cat_?” Rose plays stupid, squinting her own eyes and hushing everyone to hear better. There is no cat, of course. 

“Oh, shit.” Rose can’t tell if Ethan is playing around or genuinely worried. She thinks it might be the latter option. While smart, he’s never been all that observant. “Do you think it’s Mrs. Norris?” 

“Fuck,” Jo curses. Rose pretends to still be listening in for cat noises. She hopes she doesn’t look as silly as she feels. “It’s a couple of minutes after curfew. That’s two days’ detention if Filch catches us.” 

Penelope visibly gulps. 

“Are you sure you heard a cat, Nicot?” she asks, a tad skeptical. Hope perks up across from her. 

“No, no,” the pureblood says, scrunching up her face. Rose and her share a telling look. “She’s right. I hear it, too.” 

“Me, three,” Elizabeth chimes in, sarcastically pumping her fist in the air. 

“Shut up,” Rose and Penelope tell her, in unison. Elizabeth scoffs, appearing slightly offended. Whatever. It won’t do well for the blonde to ruin Rose’s plan, especially when her plan is to help the other girl. 

“From what direction?” Penelope asks, unconvinced. 

Rose pretends to listen into the nothingness once again. “I think...yeah, it’s coming from our left.” 

“Yup,” Hope adds in agreement. Rose shoots her a look to be quiet as well. 

“Really?” 

Rose grows frustrated. 

“Just because you’re experiencing a severe loss of hearing,” she layers on thickly, hoping that her goading will spur the other girl into action. “It doesn’t mean that the rest of us have to suffer, Pen.” 

“Let’s go,” she then tells the others, moving forward. 

Penelope stands still. “Oh, come on.” 

“Sorry.” Hope shrugs, backing up and throwing her hands in surrender. Maybe Penelope will listen to her, if not Rose. “I’ve had enough detention in the past two months to last a lifetime.” 

She takes off first in the opposite direction of the _pretend_ noise. 

The rest of Rose’s friends follow the pureblood speedily, not willing to risk getting caught after curfew by Filch. Rose stays behind and without hurry, knowing that there isn’t any _real_ threat. 

“Fine.” Penelope trails after Hope in resignation, talking to no one in particular. “But I’m taking the vodka with me.” 

Rose goes to follow her friends, but a hand on her arm stops her. She spins around, turning to ice with her first look at bright, blue eyes. Her lips part, and she lowers her gaze down to the fingers wrapped loosely around her wrist. 

She frowns and rips her arm away, looking back up with a curious expression on her face. Elizabeth seems wholly unfazed. 

“Thank you,” the blonde whispers, so sincerely that Rose feels the lump in her throat like a hot coal, singeing a burning path from her vocal cords to the very tip of her tongue. 

This close, Rose can easily see how the blonde could have captured Sebastian’s attention so quickly. Elizabeth Saltzman is very pretty, indeed. 

Rose shakes her head, cooling her features into a mask. “I didn’t do this for you,” she says, but why does it sound like just another lie? 

No. She’s not lying. She didn’t do this for Elizabeth. She did it for _Hope_. Josette will never forgive Hope if she had allowed anything to happen to her sister. That’s all. It was a simple favor. Not for Elizabeth. Rose doesn’t care about her. Not at all. 

The blonde and the halfblood step away at the same time, the look in Elizabeth’s eyes haunting her long after they separate. 

Was it desperation? Hurt? Anger? 

Later, much later, when she’s sitting in her bed and trying to remember the color of Ethan’s eyes—brown or green? _blue, blue, blue_—she will think that it was disappointment.

—

Hope sits in the Slytherin common room, her friends having gone up to bed a few minutes ago. Besides the pureblood, there are only a couple of other people in the room, mostly a group she recognizes to be in sixth year, like her. 

If Hope’s being honest, the only reason she’s still here is because she’s waiting for Josie Saltzman. She dearly hopes that the muggleborn isn’t already in her room asleep. That would really suck, and then all of this waiting would have been for nothing. 

No. 

This isn’t for nothing. Josie is probably coming back from the Gryffindor party right now. Yes. Right now, she’ll be here any second, and then Hope will apologize and everything will be fine. 

If the apology doesn’t work, Hope will just ask her to the ball, and then everything will be fine. Yes. She’s made up her mind. 

“Josie!” Hope calls, standing up from the large arm chair she had been brooding in for nearly an hour as the common room door crumbles open. 

She pretends not to notice the weird looks the nearby group of sixth years give her, too concerned with the brown-haired girl entering the common room. 

Unfortunately, Josie ignores Hope blatantly calling her name out, instead heading straight to the stairs. Hope intercepts her just as Josie trips on the first step, stumbling forward dangerously. 

When she sways back in Hope’s direction, the pureblood receives the instant, tell-tale smell of someone drunk off of their ass. She frowns and places two steadying hands on Josie’s hips, only to be promptly shoved off. 

“Leave me alone, Mitchellsin,” Josie grumbles, slurring her words slightly and somehow pronouncing Hope’s last name wrong. She quickly notices a clear, damp spot on her blouse that might be the leftovers of a spilled drink. 

Merlin. How did the girl even manage the walk from Gryffindor Tower to here? 

“You’re drunk,” Hope sighs out, not exactly an accusation but a statement. She holds her arm out for Josie to take. “Let me help you to your room?” 

“Oh no,” Josie says, raising her voice to an almost mocking degree. She glares at Hope openly. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see us together, would we?” 

Hope rubs the back of her neck, feeling the sting of the other girl’s words down to her bones. She wants Josie to know that she doesn’t care if that nosey group of girls in the corner can see them. She doesn’t care if anyone can see them anymore. 

“Can you just hear me out?” she pleads, placing a light, guiding hand at the small of Josie’s back when the girl struggles to walk on her own. 

Josie whirls on her, slapping her arm away. 

“What is there left to say?” 

So much. There is _so much_ left to say but all the right words get caught in her throat and leave by the time Hope exhales. 

She clenches her eyes shut, searching blindly in the dark for the resolve she needs. 

“I’m sorry,” she starts, when she opens her eyes. “For shutting you out after the game. I was just upset and, like you said earlier, I took it out on you, there isn’t anything more to it.” 

She pauses, making sure Josie looks at her when she says this next part. Hope absentmindedly thinks that the swirls of color in Josie’s eyes right now match her favorite brand of Firewhiskey exactly. “How can I earn your forgiveness?” 

The brunette rolls her eyes, pushing past her again. “You can’t.” 

“Josie, please,” Hope tries again. “I didn’t mean any of it.” 

She lowers her voice, leaning in. “Listen to me. You are _not_ a distraction. My teammates got into my head. It won’t happen again, you have to believe me.” 

Josie bites her bottom lip briefly, but enough for the pureblood to have the sudden, intrusive thought that she should kiss her. 

She waits for the urge to pass. It doesn’t. 

Merlin. She really needs to get these hormonal impulses under control. 

“Please give me another chance.” Hope swipes her tongue quickly along her own bottom lip. “I’ll treat you better, I swear.” 

Josie stands straighter, putting her hands on her hips. Hope notices that a few of the buttons on her shirt are undone, particularly the ones near the lacy bra the pureblood knows she’s wearing underneath. She curses herself inwardly. “How do you plan on doing that?” 

Hope shakes herself out of her much too pleasant thoughts, making sure Josie can hear the sincerity and earnest in her voice when she speaks. 

“Let me take you to the ball, for one.” 

Josie’s eyes widen minutely, her lips parting just enough that Hope applauds herself on rendering the other girl speechless. Hopefully, this is a good sign. 

“Josie!” someone calls behind them, much like Hope had moments ago. The pureblood sighs and steps back, but doesn’t move away entirely, remaining close and nearby just in case. 

She watches as one of the girls—blonde, with short hair and big eyes—in the group that had given Hope weird looks earlier comes forward. Her friends trail behind her, all wearing odd, secretive smiles. 

“Hey, I’m so glad I caught you!” 

Josie blinks. Hope can’t tell if she recognizes the girl or not. She’s also about a second away from telling her to go away. 

“My name’s Madeline Raichter,” the girl says slowly, as if trying to jog Josie’s memory and remind her of her existence. Hope almost chuckles. “I’m in your Divination period, actually.” 

Josie laughs something embarrassed, the fog of alcohol over her brain clearly getting to her. She runs a hand through her hair, smiling. 

“Oh, yes! _Maddy_. I remember you.” She nods almost hysterically, trying to get the point across that she knows who the blonde is.

Hope does her best not to shoot daggers at Madeline. _What kind of a nickname is Maddy, anyways? _

“You’re the one that predicted Trelawney’s death during crystal ball readings, right?” Josie continues, still giggling slightly. “That was really funny.” 

“That would be me,” Madeline laughs, too. Hope doesn’t find it humorous at all. “I’ve actually been wanting to get you alone for a while.” 

_ You have?  _

“You have?” Josie asks, almost...flattered. She blushes, and Hope completely loathes it. It’s not like the muggleborn’s blush belongs solely to her, but it still hurts watching someone else bring that same fucking color out so easily. 

“Yeah,” Madeline admits. She then clears her throat shyly, and Hope imagines that she’s going to finally ask what she had been meaning to since coming over. Her friends even elbow her to get a move on. 

“I know you probably get asked this all the time,” the blonde says, “but I don’t know that you’ve given anyone an answer.” 

How ominous. What on Earth can the blonde be talking about? Hope rolls her eyes. 

“It’s kind of random but...uh,” she stammers, “come to the winter ball with me?” 

Hope scoffs underneath her breath, laughing slightly. There’s no way that Josie will say yes to this bumbling idiot. The pureblood has not a thing to worry about. 

_Obviously_, the muggleborn is going to tell her that she’s already going with Hope. Nothing to worry about at all...

“Yes.” Hope drops open her mouth and whips her head at the brunette, trying to keep the instant look of betrayal off her face. She can’t. 

“Oh, okay,” Madeline breathes, dejected. Next to Josie, Hope’s own breathing is becoming slightly labored. Her lungs shake in her chest enough that Hope visibly trembles on the outside. Her hands turn into two balls of clenched fists. “Maybe next time.” 

“What? I said _yes_.” Josie laughs, confused. She doesn’t even spare the pureblood a single glance. Hope begins to fade away from the conversation, almost as if she is _drowning_ underwater and everyone else is ten feet above surface, _flying_.

“Oh!” Madeline’s answering smile is almost blinding. “Sorry, I was just expecting you to reject me, considering...” 

While the girl rambles on, Hope attempts to gather herself and escape the coffin Josie has buried her in. She pulls at her hair and turns away, swallowing the thick gulp of misery in her throat to no use. Massaging the flesh of her neck does nothing, either. She freezes as panic like a thousand dementor kisses unravels in her veins. 

No. Not like a dementor. This is much _worse_. 

Hope attempts to shake her head slyly at Josie, but the muggleborn continues to stare at the girl babbling across from her. 

“No, no, I’ll go with you,” Josie cuts Madeline off, at last, with a small flirtatious look from under her heavy-lidded eyes. Fuck. It hurts. It hurts so bad. “But on one condition.” 

“I’m afraid I’ve had a little too much to drink.” She wipes vaguely at the damp stain on her shirt, her eyes still on Madeline. Never once do they cross Hope. 

It _hurts_. 

“Would you mind helping me to my room?” 

Hope finds herself at a loss for words, and she also finds that this has been happening a lot to her as of recently. She lets out a deep sigh and scowls, in full view of Josie, in full view of Madeline, in full view of everyone. 

Her chest caves in as the blonde’s eyes sparkle. “I would love nothing more.” 

Madeline then turns around to where her friends are standing behind her. “I’ll be right back,” she tells them, her lips stretching into a smile as she twists her body back to Josie. 

For the rest of the night, those words eat Hope alive. She finds that she can’t stop thinking about them, especially when Madeline never comes right back after helping Josie to her room. 

The pureblood stays in the common room for what must be hours, waiting for that Slytherin bimbo to return to her friends so that _she_ can return to _Josie_, but that never happens. Hope can’t help but wonder if Madeline did _more_ than help Josie to her room, if the muggleborn decided that she wanted _Maddy_ instead of Hope. 

But, no. That’s impossible. Josie wouldn’t do that, surely. Right? Yet, the brunette could, and Hope would have absolutely no right to get upset. She could fuck around with Madeline all she wants and it would be completely Hope’s fault. 

Merlin. Why had she never asked Josie out? Why had she never made things official? 

What if the muggleborn invited Madeline into her room? What if she’s taking advantage of Josie right now? What if—

Several times, Hope has to stop herself from storming up the stairs into the dorms and knocking on every door until she discovers which one Josie stands behind. 

By the time she gets into bed, her nerves are thoroughly shot, her senses in overdrive. In fact, when her bedsheets brush against a sensitive spot on her arm, goosebumps erupt across her entire body and send her into a frenzy. 

Several hours into the night, she catches herself listening carefully for any sound resembling Josie Saltzman. Once or twice, she hears muffled laughter and a few moans. And once or twice, she—in complete seriousness—zeroes in on the noises until she’s sure they’re not from the muggleborn. 

When Hope finally falls asleep, she dreams of a winter ball without Josie as her date. She wakes up crying. 


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol

“Where is it?” 

Hope continues to rummage through the trunk next to her bed in a frenzy like she’s been doing for the past few minutes, throwing random articles of clothing and objects behind her as she kneels on the floor. 

Since Hope had woken up, she’s been on edge. She’s been an _absolute_ ball of nerves. Her mind won’t stop running on and on about the night before, no matter how much she tries to distract herself and think about something else. 

And now she’s _talking_ to herself. She’s gone completely crazy, she knows. 

“Where the fuck is it?” Nearly ready to give up, the pureblood leans back and lets out a frustrated sigh, staring up at the ceiling to summon any sort of strength. 

“Hey.” Rose appears in the doorway, her fingers curled along the frame. She tilts her head behind her. 

“Come on, we have about a minute before our friends take off without us. Pen is counting the seconds as we speak,” she says, smiling with amusement. The girl drops her hand from the doorframe as she steps forward. “Need I remind you that we’re trying to get there before Maya wakes up?” 

Right. 

While Maya isn’t the earliest riser, she is probably going to wake up sooner or later. Hope should probably hurry the hell up if she wants to make it to the hospital wing at all, but she can’t fucking find _it_. 

The pureblood turns away, clearing her throat before she replies. She thinks that her voice might sound too strained to not raise any questions or suspicion. 

“One second,” she murmurs, looking down into her trunk again. There are a couple of wizard gags in the corner, a few Slytherin ties that she can glimpse at the bottom, her muggle hoodie sitting on top. Wizard gags. Slytherin ties. Muggle hoodie. 

Gags. Ties. Hoodie.

Hope throws it all aside quickly enough. 

“What are you looking for?” Rose comes up behind her, hands at her hips as she peeks inside the trunk Hope is searching through. The pureblood finds that she has to clear her throat once again when she talks. 

“A box of dark chocolate truffles,” she tells Rose, her eyes scanning the nearly empty chest. Her words come together rushed and anxious, nearly running into one another. “The one with nuts. They’re Maya’s favorites. I know they’re in here somewhere.” 

Or maybe she doesn’t. 

“Fuck.” Hope slams an open palm against the wood of her trunk. She can’t get past her frustration. Why does she suddenly feel so desperate? Her chest is tight, too, almost to the point where she can’t even breathe. She thinks her lungs might cave in if she can’t get herself under control. 

“Here. I’ll help.” Rose sits down beside her, placing a hand on Hope’s shoulder. The pureblood recoils as if burned. It’s too much. Too much. 

“No. _Fuck_.” Hope stands up and kicks the trunk hard, the pain not even registering in her anger. Her eyes blur with tears. Her throat constricts. She feels like she’s suffocating. “I can’t find it.” 

She runs a hand through her hair, digging her fingers into her scalp and pulling. If she drags her nails down her face, it is only to scratch the itch to part her lips and scream. 

A sob forms in her throat, her teeth clench to stop it. Rose is standing too close for comfort. Hope thinks that she might burn the entire room down if she isn’t careful. 

“I can’t _fucking_ find it!” she snaps, a snarl like that of an animal’s building up in her throat, or maybe that’s just the howl of the wind outside. It’s too cold. Too cold. Cold. 

“Hope.” 

Her face is wet. When she rubs at her cheeks with the pads of her fingers, they come away dripping. Her throat is wet, too. Is the Great Lake in there? Why else is it suddenly impossible for her to swallow, to find any relief at all? 

Someone grabs her by the shoulders. Is it Rose? Is it the wind? Too cold. Cold. 

“Hope, what’s wrong?” Rose shakes her, and when the blur of Hope’s vision sharpens, she sees concerned eyes and knitted brows. The halfblood’s lips have formed into a thin line, a corner of them pulling into a frown. 

“I lost it, I think.” Is Hope talking about the box of chocolates? Is she talking about the wind? The cold? Too cold. Cold. 

Rose smiles sadly. “Something tells me that you’re not crying over chocolates.” 

No. Hope isn’t crying over fucking chocolates. She’s crying because Josie Saltzman is so far away and it is too, too _cold_. 

“I messed up.” She moves past Rose, blinks new tears unbidden. Again with the hands in the hair, fingers digging into the scalp, nails dragging down skin. “I messed up so bad.” 

“It’s okay,” Rose tries. Again with the soothing touch. Again with the burn. “It’s okay.” 

“No, no,” Hope shakes her head resolutely, hands trembling in front of her. “Josie won’t take me back this time. She won’t. Do you, do you think she’ll...?” 

It’s good that she doesn’t finish her question. 

Rose Nicot has no answer. 

—

They end up finding the box of chocolates. 

After some calming hugs from Rose and a few more tears from Hope, the former catches a glimpse of the box poking out from under the latter’s bed. They share a small, embittered laugh before Hope grabs it quickly. 

When the two girls finally come down from Hope’s room, they find that their friends have already left for the hospital wing. 

Hope thinks that maybe that’s for the best, since she kind of looks like shit right now. Her hair is run ragged from frantic fingers, tangled from her roots to her ends. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, too, the skin of her lips miserably chapped like she hasn’t known water for days.

On the way to the infirmary, she casts a couple of discreet beauty charms to liven up her hair and smooth over her face. If Rose doesn’t mention it, well, Hope thanks her in the privacy of her own mind. 

“Hopey! Rosey!” Maya’s voice, high-pitched and chirpy, greets the pair the second they come through the doors. The pureblood quickly sees that the other girl is sitting up from beneath her bed sheets, rubbing absentmindedly at her injured elbow. “Where were you two? I’ve been waiting for an _hour_.” 

“You just woke up, M,” Penelope cuts in, rolling her eyes, but she looks rather amused. Maya pouts and crosses her arms—correction: attempts to cross her arms—a bit petulantly, shifting her legs out from the sheets. 

“Pomfrey gave her a pain tonic,” Ethan whispers loudly, a hand cupping his mouth so Maya can’t hear. Of course, she does. Hope wouldn’t be surprised if Madame Pomfrey herself heard, and she’s all the way in her private office. “It’s making her a little..._giddy_.” 

Rose raises her eyebrows and laughs, speaking up when realizes that Maya is still staring at her for an explanation. 

“It’s ‘cause we were looking for these,” she says, swiping the box of chocolates from Hope’s grasp and holding it up for the girl to see. 

“Chocolate?” Maya gasps. She then pauses, narrowing her eyes. She sounds a little less excited when she speaks again. 

“With nuts?” 

“With nuts,” Rose confirms, a small smile playing on her lips. 

Maya instantly squeals in joy, clapping the best she can with her injured elbow. Hope finds herself dearly concerned with how many doses of pain tonic Pomfrey gave Maya. 

She knows that Skele-Gro can cause horrible discomfort in the bones affected, especially when the extent of the injuries are so severe. It’s really no surprise that Maya had needed to take some kind of pain relief with it; except, the girl has never been one to vocalize or complain about pain. 

Unless it’s really bad. 

Fuck. Another instance where Hope hasn’t been there for her teammates. 

Trying not to go down that particular path again, Hope sits down on one of the beds surrounding Maya’s own, taking a distracted look around. 

Ryan and Jo are here, too, both laying down on their own beds and appearing seconds away from falling asleep. Hope thinks that they had definitely _not_ planned to wake up early on a Sunday morning. She turns away from them, still scanning her surroundings. 

The only other occupant in the hospital wing is a fourth-year Hufflepuff boy that had been involved in some sort of Transfiguration lesson gone wrong, leaving him with a feathered wing for an arm. 

While Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey had been able to transfigure his arm back and heal him within minutes, but the traumatic shock had already taken its toll. The boy now sits staring blankly at the ceiling, the vases of flowers and stacks of get-well-soon cards placed around him wholly untouched. 

The only reason Hope is even paying attention to him for longer than a second is because Penelope is currently standing in front of the boy, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He remains unresponsive. 

“Huh.” She snaps one last time for good measure, as if expecting to save him with that single action. It is important to note that she is being curious, not kind, here. “Worth a try.” 

“I have a secret,” Maya blurts through a mouthful of chocolate, out of nowhere, so quickly that she almost interrupts Penelope. Everyone turns to her and squints, decidedly unimpressed. 

“I think,” she says, sound entirely too convinced for her own good, “I am in love with him.” 

Not a single soul bats an eye. 

“Who?” Ethan asks, always the oblivious one. 

Maya lowers her voice, scandalously. “Coma boy.”

What _is_ with Maya and Hufflepuffs? 

Hope flicks a piece of lint off her shirt, fingers trembling, but she doesn’t yet notice. When she speaks, her voice wavers, too. “He’s, like, Pedro’s age, you perv.” 

“He’s at least fourteen,” Maya says, scowling like Hope just told her that Dumbledore banned pumpkin juice from Hogwarts. Hope briefly wonders why the girl was even given a pain tonic instead of a Calming Draught or Draught of Peace in the first place. 

Obviously, Pomfrey wants Maya to embarrass herself or something. Thank Merlin that the matron had thought to spare Hope from that the several times she had wounded up here. 

“Why him?” Penelope presses her lips into a thin line, glancing between Maya and the boy with irritation. She does not seem to have very much patience with a child-like Maya Machado. “What happened to Randall?”   
  


Everyone collectively agrees to ignore Penelope’s second question. 

“I have another secret,” Maya declares dramatically, gasping again one moment later as if her words have just dawned on her and she had not said them herself. 

No one else has the same reaction. 

“_What_?” Ryan deadpans, sounding far away, his voice muffled from the pillow his face is smothered in. Hope gives him a single glance, not knowing that he had even been listening in. 

“He’s a better roommate than Hope,” Maya whispers, a confession, pretending that the pureblood isn’t even in the room. 

Hope shakes her head while her friends start laughing. It is unbelievably hard to find any of this funny when her thoughts are miles away from this room. 

How can they laugh, when Hope feels like her heart has been ripped into pieces? How can they laugh, when Hope feels like she is dying? 

How can anyone laugh? How can anyone even breathe without feeling the cold? How can anyone—

Stop. 

She is going too far with this. She needs to enjoy her time with her friends. She needs to be present for Maya. She needs to—

She needs to stop. 

Hope manages to focus back on the conversation seconds later, manages to stay that way for minutes on end, for hours, manages to laugh at all the right times and in all the right places.

—

“Are you still thinking about her?” Rose nudges the pureblood, a long while later, when the sun has finished rising and Hope hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Josie like she had thought she could. 

The pureblood opens her mouth and, perhaps feeling that familiar lump at the back of her throat, she closes it and wisely chooses to nod instead. It won’t do well to start crying again. Especially in front of the rest of her friends, even if they are distracted by Maya right now. 

“Just go find her. Maya won’t mind,” Rose tells her, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. It is not. Hope should tell her that it is not. 

And she does. 

“It’s not that simple.” Her voice cracks at the edges. Is it just her, when the space behind her eyes starts to pound? Is it just her, when she has to blink fast and hold her breath to stop herself from crying again?

Is it just Hope? 

“From where I’m standing,” Rose says, frowning slightly, “it is.” 

Hope shakes her head, her eyes connecting to Penelope, who is carelessly launching chocolates into Maya’s open mouth. Her last throw bounces off the edge of the girl’s chin and shoots right to the floor.

If only they knew. 

“Trust me, H,” Rose continues. “Saltzman wants to take you back. She just needs you to convince her. I bet she’s waiting for you as we speak. Go to her. Don’t let her come to you.” 

Hope knows that her friend is probably just blowing smoke up her ass so the pureblood can make a move, but it works all the same. 

In fact, she had been wanting to take off and search for Josie the entire morning. Every second in this damn hospital wing has been absolute torture. All along, she’s just been waiting for an excuse—for a _push_. 

The pureblood stands up far too quickly to be considered casual, her gaze snapping to the exit like a leech on blood. All traces of her tears are gone. 

She can barely remember why it was a bad idea in the first place to go looking for Josie. 

“Where do you think she’d be right now?” she asks Rose, not even looking at the girl, her thoughts wild and running into each other like she hadn’t allowed them to earlier. 

Rose sighs. Hope ignores it. 

“Must I think of _everything_ for you?” Rose stands up with her. 

The pureblood does not answer. Does Rose seriously not see how desperate she is right now? Does she really think that Hope is in the right mind to plan ahead? 

“Fine.” Rose’s voice comes out like a childish growl, her annoyance clear. “You can check the great hall. It’s a little past breakfast time. If she’s not there she might be in her room or the library, you know, like a _normal_ person on a Sunday.” 

Before leaving, Hope steals a bouquet of flowers from one of the poor coma boy’s bedside tables, casting a spell underneath her breath to freshen them up. 

She slips out of the room quietly, and when the door shuts behind her, no one but Rose notices. 

—

Hope checks the great hall first. 

She doesn’t find Josie sitting at the Gryffindor table, or the Ravenclaw table, and certainly not the Slytherin table. She catches a small glimpse of Elizabeth and her other friends eating, but it quickly appears that the brunette muggleborn is nowhere near her sister. 

On her way to the library, she swipes a cracker and cheese tray from the kitchens and a few pancakes. 

Well, actually, a lot of pancakes.

She doesn’t really know what Josie likes, so she ends up getting four buttermilk, four banana, four blueberry, and four chocolate-chip pancakes. She also takes a goblet full of maple syrup for good measure. 

The pureblood does not find Josie at the library either, though. This is rather unfortunate, since Hope almost falls and drops everything she’s holding when Madame Pince yells at her to get out. 

“This is a library, not an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet! Out! _Shoo_!” 

Balancing a tray of food and a bouquet of flowers is not as easy as one would think. Hope guesses that she looks like a proper idiot. 

When she finally manages the trip from the library to the Slytherin common room, she comes across the difficult task of juggling everything up the stairs. 

She nearly trips over her own feet about a hundred times, before she makes it to the first hallway and faces the long line of doors.

Fuck. 

How is she supposed to know which room Josie is in? Maybe Hope can ask her roommates? 

Wait. 

Hope doesn’t know who her roommates are. 

Now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t once heard someone talk about sharing a room with the muggleborn. Huh.

Hope knocks on the first door with her foot. When no answer comes, she only sends a harder kick. Some random brunette opens the door, but the pureblood disregards her quickly upon seeing that she’s not Josie. 

She ignores the weird look the girl gives her and moves on, knocking on ten more doors and garnering similar reactions. 

Every once in a while, she tries to look past the person to see if Josie might be hiding behind the door, and sometimes she actually asks the person to list the names of their roommates if she doesn’t already know. 

All in all, she looks like the biggest creep alive. 

What feels like fifty doors later, Hope weakly shoves her foot against the lower portion of a random door, feeling slightly tired. 

No response comes.

Letting out a small huff, she knocks again. Harder. This isn’t the first time someone’s taken a long time to answer, or decided not to answer at all. 

About a solid minute later, the door creaks open. 

Hope startles and parts her lips in surprise when her eyes fall upon Josie Saltzman. She instantly strands up straighter, adjusting her hold on the flowers she brought. 

She sends a brief, insecure glance to the sunflowers and pink roses bunched up in her hand, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure. 

Should she have brought the hydrangeas and geraniums instead? What if Josie doesn’t like these? 

_Merlin_.

The pureblood honestly hadn’t been expecting Josie to be the one to open the door, after spending the last half hour searching for her to no avail. She had been very close to giving up, in all actuality. 

“Hey,” Hope breathes, her voice probably deeper than it should be, as she secretly looks the other girl over. 

Josie is wearing a pair of leggings and a muggle hoodie a bit like Hope’s own, with some weird kind of bunny slippers. Her hair is tucked into the hood and she has one hand in the pocket, the other keeping the door open wide enough for the muggleborn to poke her head out. 

Her face looks a little too pale for the pureblood’s liking, causing the dark circles underneath her eyes to stand out. Her bottom lip is glistening red like she’s been chewing at it all day—and it’s almost wobbling, as if she’s a second away from pouting and a minute away from crying. 

Before Hope can open her mouth to begin her heavily-rehearsed apology speech, Josie slams the door shut in her face. Not expecting it, the pureblood steps back and scowls. 

Damn. 

Maybe Josie had taken one look at the flowers and had decided that she didn’t like them? Hope had thought that they were simple enough. 

Pink and yellow are her favorite colors, right? 

Oh, shit. What if Josie’s allergic to pancakes? What if she had an aerial reaction to the syrup? 

The pureblood leans forward and hears the sound of rustling clothing, but nothing that resembles trouble breathing or dying. 

Before Hope can worry and fret over her bothersome thoughts for too long, the door opens again, except now Josie is wearing a completely different outfit and her hair is brushed down in soft waves.   


The bunny slippers are gone.

Hope arches a single eyebrow, unable to stop herself from raking her eyes up and down the other girl’s figure once more. She inwardly scolds herself. She should not be so transparent as to openly stare at Josie like this, but...

The pureblood quickly takes in the girl’s shorts and a cropped, long-sleeved shirt, finding herself breathless once more. How is Josie always this beautiful? This _stunning_? Like Hope might die if she doesn’t get one more look? 

This time, it’s Josie that speaks first. 

“Hey,” she says, something in her voice soft but undeniably unforgiving. Hope shrinks back a foot or two, absentmindedly reminding herself not to drop the food and flowers in her hands. 

“Hey,” Hope says, again. 

A pause. 

“How are you?” she adds, dumbly. Yup. She is very, very dumb. 

“Okay.” Josie doesn’t budge an inch, the brusque tone to her voice an unsubtle warning:

_ Go away.  _

Hope has never been one to listen on the first try of things. But, if Josie had been the one to ask Hope how she was, she would have told the brunette that she has been utterly miserable. She would have told her that she is angry and lonely and so, so fucking unhappy without her. 

“Are your roommates in?” she asks instead, nodding her head off in the direction behind Josie. An odd expression that Hope can’t completely place crosses the brunette’s face. 

“Roommates?” Josie frowns slightly. Hope almost lets everything she’s holding fall to the ground just so she can reach out and fix it. “I,uh, don’t have any.” 

“Roommates, that is,” she amends, needlessly. Hope nods, wondering why her legs are now turning to jelly. She seriously needs to sit down before she passes out. This is too much for her. Fuck. 

“Oh.” She looks down the hallway and back, shifting the weight of the items in her hand, shifting the weight of her feet. “Can I come in?” 

Silence. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Josie doesn’t even look at her when she says it. Instead, she glances to her shoes and kicks lightly at the ground, the first clue that she’s feeling half as nervous as Hope. 

“Right. Of course.” Hope steps back. 

The second she leaves, the fucking moment that she is out of Josie’s sight, she’ll burn these flowers to ashes. She’ll reign down fury on the pancakes, innocent or not. 

Hope turns away, her teeth gritting together almost painfully. The hot sting of rejection shows no mercy, and certainly not for Hope Mikaelson. 

“Wait.” Hope has to clear her throat for the fourth time that day before facing Josie again. Doing this is not enough to fix the mess of vocal cords and stomach acid deep inside her. 

“How did you know where my room was?” The pureblood stills, the small bit of hope that she had gotten from Josie calling her back vanishing completely. 

Of course the brunette doesn’t want to hear her out. Of _course_ she’s just concerned about Hope being a stalker. 

It makes her frown, it makes her eyebrows come together, it makes a wrinkle form in the space between them. How is it that she and Josie can feel so far apart while so close? 

“I didn’t,” Hope says, trying to stop her anger at herself from leaking into her voice. She attempts a tight-lipped, small smile, but her mouth drops within seconds. “I just knocked on every door until I found yours.” 

Josie sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down gently. Hope secretly imagines that the other girl has been doing that a lot since last night. From her own anxious habit, Hope’s nails are nearly down to their beds. 

During this moment, she spares them a single glance, her eyes connecting right to Josie’s just as she looks back up. Her pretty, brown eyes are bigger than Hope can remember. Lighter, even. She can clearly distinguish dark pupil from dark iris, can clearly see the clear whites of her eyes. 

They seem to be pulling Hope in, because she unconsciously leans forward about an entire inch before she realizes herself. Crap. 

Hope should be going.

She is wholly unwanted, now.

Josie asked her a question. Hope _answered_ it. Now she needs to leave. 

Yet, how is it much harder to turn away a second time than the first? 

Still, the pureblood manages. She manages to twist her body around while balancing the things in her hands at the same time. She manages to not glance back, she manages to keep her chin held high. She _manages_. 

Well. Almost. 

Hope turns around quickly, fast enough to almost tip over her goblet of syrup. Desperation crawls up her throat and chokes her with the intensity of it. 

Josie opens her own mouth and closes it, eyes wide like she can almost tell what Hope is about to do. She shakes her head but the pureblood beats her to it. 

“I love you,” Hope blurts, shoving the flowers in front of her like a mix between an apology and offering. 

If it’s possible, Josie’s eyes grow even more wide. She sends a panicked look down both sides of the hallway before rushing forward and taking the flowers. 

Hope smiles, pleasantly surprised, but Josie doesn’t give her a second to digest what it means before grabbing her arm and yanking her into the muggleborn’s room. 

“_Mhmph_—watch the pancakes, _hey_!” 

Hope swallows nervously as the tray she’s holding sways forward and back, the syrup in the goblet dangerously sloshing up and down. When it settles, she lets out a sigh of relief that is very much short-lived. 

“Are you _crazy_?!” Josie hisses, pushing the door closed in one second and throwing the flowers carelessly on her desk nearby in the next. Hope gives them one sad glance, deciding to ignore the pissed off look on the other girl’s face. 

She places the tray of food next to the flowers, her face heating up slightly.

“I wasn’t sure if you had breakfast or not. I brought you the flowers because they reminded me of you. Well, I actually stole them from the hospital wing, but I hope you still like them...” the pureblood rambles on, sharply inhaling when her eyes lock back onto Josie’s. 

How does the muggleborn look even more angry? 

“You don’t get it, do you?” Josie asks, shaking her head almost incredulously. “Flowers won’t fix this. Randomly telling me that you love me won’t fix this.” 

Hope draws her eyebrows together, frowning a bit. 

“Of course not. I just thought you might—“ 

Hope is kind of glad Josie chooses to cut her off. She honestly had no idea where she was going with that. 

“Why did you come here, Hope?” The brunette crosses her arms, fingers grasping at the sharp points of her elbows. She glances off to the side, not meeting Hope’s eyes. 

The pureblood does the same, allowing the small moment she takes next to collect herself and get her first look around the room. 

It’s quite spacious, actually, which is probably due to the fact that Josie doesn’t have any roommates. The muggleborn’s bed sits up against a wall in the middle, with neutral-colored sheets and two yellow lamps on either side of it. 

She has another entire wall filled with photographs—but when Hope squints her eyes, she sees that none of them are moving like photographs normally would. Her last two walls are lined with desks and bookshelves, all chock-full. 

There’s also a large, fluffy rug in the middle of the room, half-covered by the bed which has a pretty chandelier hanging from the ceiling on top of it. The chandelier isn’t very showy or overly elegant, but instead matches the room rather nicely. Some type of green plant decorates it, too, wounding across the arms of the chandelier and hanging a foot below. 

Hope takes a shuddering breath at a poor attempt to regain her composure, silently praying to Merlin that Josie will hear the sincerity in her words when she speaks. 

“I wanted to see you,” she says. “To—to apologize.” 

Josie hears none of it. 

“_Now_ you want to?” She scoffs, unfolding her arms and putting her hands on her hips. “It’s been hours since...” 

She can’t even say it. She rubs tiredly at the bridge of her nose, letting her arms fall back to her hips. Hope absentmindedly wonders, not for the first time, if she had woken Josie up by knocking. 

“You know,” the brunette tells her, “I spent the entire morning yesterday defending you to my friends, trying to get them to see where your team might have been coming from after what happened, what you must have been feeling, but you didn’t even have any consideration for my own feelings.” 

Hope bites down on her tongue, knowing that Josie is right and that she deserves to be lectured like this on some level. 

“I tried to excuse it. I did.” The pureblood winces. “I tried to tell myself that you were going to apologize and take back everything you said—that _maybe_ it was just taking a while because you were still cleaning up from your punishment...”

Josie’s eyes flash. “And then I hear from Lizzie that you and your friends tried to bully her in the hallway? My—my _sister_. You’re sixteen, Hope. You’re not a first-year anymore.” 

Fuck. Hope knows. She knows. 

She _knows_. 

But she hates this. She hates that Josie is acting like Hope is a child, she hates how easily she can scold Hope like this. It brings a bitter taste to the pureblood’s mouth like soap. 

“...I can’t find anyway to excuse that, I just can’t...” 

“I didn’t do anything to her, though.” Josie must know that. She _must_ know that Elizabeth had walked away perfectly fine, that Hope hadn’t hurt her or anything. 

“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have?” the muggleborn shoots back, stepping closer. In return, Hope steps closer to the exit, one fist clenched. “That you hadn’t been thinking about it?” 

And that’s the problem. 

Hope _had_ been thinking about it. She had been thinking about getting her rightful revenge the second she had laid her eyes on Elizabeth—the blonde drunk off her ass like Hope had been so many nights ago. 

Elizabeth had taken advantage of her. Why couldn’t _Hope_? 

“I...no.” She swallows thickly, her eyes searching when they meet Josie’s again. “But I know that I was wrong, now. I will never allow any harm to come to your sister again. You have to believe me.” 

“I want to,” Josie whispers, desperate and anguished. Hope thinks that her eyes are searching, too. She holds the pureblood’s own for a long moment, before looking away. 

Whatever she was looking for, she must not have found it. 

“But you’re just a _coward_. And I don’t want to be with a coward.” 

Hope gulps, her lungs scorching for air. Her jaw visibly trembles and she looks past Josie’s shoulder, trying desperately to remember how to breathe. 

Fuck. 

She knows she’s a coward, damn it. 

She knows. Does Josie think that she needs someone to tell her that? Does she really think Hope wants to hear it? 

Can’t she see how much that _hurts_? 

The pureblood had come over here to apologize. To make wrongs right. Yet Josie hasn’t given her an inch in edgewise to even try. 

“And do you think I want to be with a muggleborn?” Hope spits out, not thinking. Never thinking. Never. “You call me a coward, but we both know you’re just as happy as I am to hide from our friends and family.” 

All sound in the room cuts off so sharply that Hope thinks she’s gone deaf. 

Josie blinks several times, as if unable to believe what Hope has just said. Hope can hardly believe it herself. 

If rain starts to pound against Josie’s window, the pureblood hears it not. She does not hear the light footsteps outside Josie’s door, she does not hear all the air in the room disappear. 

She only realizes the lack of oxygen when her head starts to spin. 

“Wait.” Hope places a hand on her forehead, feeling suddenly lightheaded. She bends over, her stomach twisting so uncomfortably that she thinks she might throw up. She is absolutely sick to her own stomach, and she has only herself to blame. “I didn’t mean that.” 

“Get out.” 

The words are soft, but firm. They reach Hope as a whisper and send her backpedaling like a scream. 

“Josie, please,” she nearly whimpers, moving closer with her arms out in front of her but she has no idea why. Is she trying to reach out to the other girl? Is she stretching her hands up in surrender? What the fuck is she doing? 

Josie recoils, stepping back so quickly that it strikes Hope that the other girl might be afraid of her. Her throat bobs in guilt, and she drops her hands to her sides. 

“I said _get out_!” 

Before Hope can even try to step an inch closer, before she can even open her mouth to apologize and take the words back, the space around her seems to narrow. It blurs like the waves of an ocean without water, and the pureblood finds herself stumbling back involuntarily. 

Without delay, the floorboards start to tremble underneath her feet as well, the ceiling vibrates along with the chandelier, the air shakes like the wind. 

Hope instantly recognizes the signs of accidental magic, even as the floor escapes her with horrifying speed, even as she gets sent flying backwards towards the door. 

She catches a single glimpse of Josie’s face—for the first time, her expression is clear, unmistakable _panic, panic, panic_—and then she clenches her eyes shut. 

The back of her head hits the corner of a thick, dense shelf. Hard. She bounces off of it much as a wayward spell off a wall does—fast and without warning. 

Accidental magic is very fickle, indeed. 

Hope drops to the floor like a rag doll stuffed with rocks. The last thing she hears before the world mutes around her is a horrified scream from Josie and a dull crack from somewhere within her own body. 

Falling asleep is easier and quicker than learning how to blink. 

—

“Hope...please...” 

The pureblood stirs somewhat, but not enough to be even remotely noticed at all. The skin of her left eyelid gives a weak twitch. 

“Hope, baby, wake up. It’s okay. It’s okay. It was just a small bump, you’re okay. Wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay....” 

_Fuck_. 

Is that Josie? 

Hope makes a pathetic groaning noise at the back of her throat, wincing as her head continues to pound. It feels like someone just hit her with a thousand-pound bag of bricks several times over. 

“...” 

Her chest rises very slowly, and falls all the same. She tries to summon the energy to sit up, but doesn’t move an inch. 

“Hope?” 

Yes. It is Josie. 

Hope remains slumped against the floor with her eyes closed and her head lulling to her shoulder. 

“Mhmm.” 

Why is her mouth so dry? Why is her throat closing up? Even her tongue suddenly feels far too big and heavy to fit in there.

“Can you open your eyes for me?” 

Well, no. 

Hope doesn’t think that she can do that. 

For one, the warmth of color against her eyelids is already much too bright for the hammering of her brain against her skull to settle completely, and secondly—

_Ow_.

Cool fingertips skim her cheek. Hope shivers, leaning her head towards the touch and smiling. It feels nice. Soothing. 

The sensation begins to travel across her entire body, except the fingers are gone and the chill that follows them feels a bit like the diagnostic charm Madame Pomfrey has casted on the pureblood time and time again. 

A sigh of relief fills her ears. “Oh, thank God.” 

Hope still doesn’t know who God is but she thanks them, too. 

“I’m going to move you to my bed now, okay?” she hears, and Hope would like to imagine that she nods her head in that moment. In reality, her head does not move at all. 

“Wingardium Leviosa.” 

A feeling of weightlessness spreads over the pureblood. The hard, rigid floor beneath her fades away, and her limbs begin to float and hover in the air. 

_Oh_. 

Josie is most definitely levitating her right now. For some reason, Hope can’t find it in herself to care one bit about it, other than worrying over how humiliating this is. 

If only she could get her body to move, if only she could open her eyes...

Before she can think about it for too long, the pureblood’s head hits a soft pillow and the rest of her body settles into warm, pliant bed sheets. 

Something soft is thrown over her, from her torso to her toes, like a blanket. Hope sighs quietly and accidentally inhales an undeniably sweet, heady scent. It reminds her so much of—

Josie. 

_Josie_, who threw her into a shelf. 

Hope carefully blinks open her eyes, letting out an instant grunt of pain when the throbbing in her head comes back full-force at the sudden brightness. Still, she can’t resist a small smirk. 

“Well, that’s one way to win an argument,” she mutters, hoping that the other girl will hear the playful tone to her voice. Josie only laughs wetly, a shell of a broken sound. 

Hope feels the bed shift as the muggleborn sits down next to her, and then a cool hand holds hers underneath the blanket. She revels in the feeling of being so close to Josie, of being able to touch her. 

Merlin knows Hope hasn’t been able to do that for a while. 

The pureblood slowly stretches and brings her free hand up to the back of her head, stopping short when her fingers drift over a sore spot. She holds back another groan as a sharp spike of pain hits her. 

She decides to distract herself by looking at Josie, and—

Something is obviously wrong. 

The brunette’s wand dangles limply in her hand, and her breath comes shallow and thin. When the dark spots across Hope’s vision dissolve, she catches the subtle glint of a light sheen of sweat on the other girl’s forehead. 

“I’m so sorry,” Josie tells her, shaking her head. A tear slips unbidden down her cheek, hitting the blanket. The blanket is pink. Hope hadn’t noticed before. “Please forgive me.” 

The pureblood finds herself at a loss for words. 

Everything inside of her is screaming to comfort the other girl and soothe her worries, but her mouth refuses to move and words do not come so easily in times like these. 

Swallowing messily, Hope eyes the wand still held loosely in Josie’s hand, which is stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood. 

When the brunette puts her wand back up her sleeve, Hope catches the horrifying glimpse of a deep cut along her palm. 

She gets control of her voice pretty quickly after seeing that. 

“What did you do?” she asks, her teeth clenching not of their own accord. She sets her jaw dangerously. 

Is her head pounding from pain or anger now? 

“Just a simple resuscitating spell,” Josie says, tone dismissive, leaving no room for discussion. 

Hope does not think she knows a _simple_ resuscitating spell that involves slicing one’s palm open, but she definitely won’t try to start another fight after what just happened. 

Josie removes her hand from Hope’s and picks up her wand again, waving it across her palm a few times and healing the cut within seconds. Another spell vanishes the blood completely, which does much to pacify the pureblood’s anger. 

Hope nearly sighs in relief when Josie grabs her hand again, almost like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. She had been worried that they’d never hold hands again the second the brunette had pulled away from her. 

“That didn’t look very simple,” Hope observes quietly, when she realizes that it’s taken her a tad too long to reply. She briefly glances out of the window, wondering how long she’s been passed out for. The sky is much darker than she can remember, and it’s still raining. “I’m guessing Rennervate didn’t do the trick?” 

“No.” Josie laughs, so, so bitterly that Hope has to do a double-take. “No. It didn’t do the trick at all.” 

Why is the muggleborn acting so miserable? Hope knows that it was only an accident. 

Surely enough, Hope herself has pulled many stunts like this over the course of her life. 

And it’s not like Josie had done any _real_ damage. The pureblood had nearly killed her mother in her own fit of accidental magic once, by contrast. 

“Er,” Hope begins, a little awkwardly, “are you okay?” 

“I just, you just—“ Josie stammers, eyes going wide before she takes the time to pause and collect herself. 

“You’re asking if _I’m_ okay?” She points at herself, clearly shocked or something. Hope doesn’t know why. She can barely concentrate on anything but Josie’s hand in hers. “Are _you_?” 

Hope nods quickly, which proves to be a mistake. Her head instantly feels like someone is trying to cut it in half with a dull knife. 

“Well, my head kind of hurts,” she admits, wanting to sound casual but unable to completely hide the grimace on her face, “but other than that I’m doing just fine.” 

“Hmm,” Josie hums, standing up and tugging her fingers away from Hope’s within seconds. _Damn_ _it_. She should have kept her fucking mouth shut.

“I think I might have some painkillers somewhere around here,” the girl murmurs, mostly to herself. Hope lays back on her pillow, suddenly unable to feel anything but cold. The pink blanket gives her no warmth whatsoever. She just wants _Josie_. 

The muggleborn walks around to the other side of the bed, tugging the side table’s top drawer open and searching through it. She comes up with nothing and moves onto the drawer below it, taking out a white, plastic bottle with a red cap after a few seconds. 

Hope doesn’t recognize the bottle at all. It doesn’t resemble a tonic or draught, and it’s certainly not as small as a potion vial. When Josie shakes it, the bottle doesn’t sound like it holds liquid inside, but tiny candies instead. 

Maybe jellybeans? 

_Huh_. 

The muggleborn twists off the cap and pours out a single white..._jellybean_...and fiddles with it, drawing her eyebrows together as she reads the label on the bottle. 

Hope squints her own eyes. The small item Josie is holding between her thumb and her pointer finger looks a bit like a Bertie Bott’s coconut-flavored bean. 

Or a marshmallow one. 

Or vanilla. 

Or salt. 

Hope thinks that there’s a good chance it’s salt. Her years of guessing with her friends have made her quite knowledgeable about this topic. 

“Is that a jellybean?” Hope speaks up, cocking her head to the side. Josie slowly looks up from the bottle, crossing back over to where the pureblood is. 

She sits down in her previous spot, which makes the corner of Hope’s lips flicker up almost imperceptibly. 

“No, it’s called a pill.” She holds it up for her to see, before taking Hope’s hand and placing it carefully in the middle of her palm. “Muggles developed it as a way to distribute medicine throughout a person’s body.” 

Hope curls her fingers around the pill and examines it carefully. “Like a healing potion?” 

“Exactly.” Josie reaches out as her attention is diverted, maybe—Hope guesses—to take the pill back, but then her delicate fingers begin to brush the side of the pureblood’s face. Hope freezes, her eyes snapping up before she can control herself. 

Josie’s hand continues to wander, fingering a couple of the loose strands of her hair. Soon, the muggleborn is practically fucking petting Hope. And Hope, for her part, doesn’t entirely hate it. “Just without the bad taste and it doesn’t take nearly as long to make.” 

“That’s brilliant,” Hope says, oddly breathless, trying desperately to keep her eyes on the pill in her hand. 

Josie hums, still stroking Hope’s hair. The pads of her fingers are so soft, the edge of her nails almost soothing against her scalp. No. The pureblood doesn’t hate it. She absolutely loves it. 

They can do _this_. Josie can touch her hair and Hope can stare at her and they don’t have to argue or do anything but _this_. 

They can forget about everything else, right now. Hope can innocently think about how much she likes Josie taking care of her and she does _not_ have to think about what had gotten them here.

Yes. They can do this. 

“It should take your headache away pretty quickly,” the brunette tells her, her voice still soft and almost distracted, “since witches and wizards break down medication at a faster rate than muggles.” 

“It might make you a little nauseous if you haven’t eaten, though,” she adds, like an afterthought, flitting her eyes down to Hope’s lips quickly enough that the pureblood almost misses it. 

Oh. Hope swipes her tongue along her bottom lip thoughtfully. Well, chocolate counts...right? 

She had had quite a bit of _that_. 

Nodding, Hope chucks the pill in her mouth and snaps her jaws together. This is rather unfortunate, since the more she chews it, the more a bitter, awful taste fills her mouth and terrorizes her taste buds. 

Hope scrunches her face up, nearly gagging. She bends over and resists the urge to throw up just to rid herself of the vile flavor. 

“No! _No_! _Hope_!” Josie moves closer, snaking her hand down the pureblood’s shoulder and rubbing her back. Hope starts coughing uncontrollably, a piece of the pill going down the wrong pipe. “You’re not supposed to bite it. You need to swallow it whole.” 

“Yuck.” Hope gulps down the broken clumps of the pill, her tongue stinging from the left-over residue. She turns toward Josie, tone accusing. 

“You said it wouldn’t taste bad!” 

The muggleborn rolls her eyes, huffing slightly with exasperation. 

“That’s because you chewed the poor thing to bits! You can’t taste it when you swallow it whole.” She backs away and grabs a cup of water off her desk. “Here.” 

Hope takes the cup from her, feeling petty. 

“Well, it’s not like you gave me any instructions,” she grumbles, washing down the thin, white powder stuck to her tongue with the water. 

When she’s done with drinking her water, Josie is much, much closer than Hope can remember. 

“Better?” the brunette asks, her eyes wide with concern. Hope watches her lips part to form the syllables and feels awfully overwhelmed. 

When was the last time Josie was this close? In the locker room before the game? Had it really been just yesterday? It feels like _decades_ have passed. 

“No.” 

Hope doesn’t realize that she has even spoken until Josie’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. She parts her lips again, closes them, and then repeats the process. 

Hope wonders how long it would take to capture them with her own. A minute? Mere seconds, maybe? 

“No?” Josie asks, voice sweet and imploring. Hope melts underneath the attention, face on fire. 

Her chest suddenly grows impossibly tight. A burning confession crawls up her throat and begs to be heard. She lets it past clenched teeth and a mouth full of flames. 

“I miss you.” 

It is not a thing of distance, it is not a thing of sight, or of hearing. It is a feeling. It is an absence. She is _missing_ Josie Saltzman. She is missing her lips, her smile, her eyes, her touch, her laugh. 

She is not missing Josie because she is simply lonely. Hope misses the brunette when she is around others. She misses her when she is by herself. She misses her when Josie is not _three_ feet away. 

“I’m right here.” 

_Yes_, Hope wants to whisper, quietly enough that only she herself can hear, _say you miss me too? _

_You are here_, Hope wants to tell her, _but I am gone, gone, gone. _  
  
  


_Gone. _

“I know,” she ends up saying, her voice so low that Josie inhales sharply. “It’s not enough.” 

When the muggleborn leans closer, it still isn’t enough. Hope has the awful thought that it will _never_ be enough. 

“How can I make it better?” Josie wrings her hands together, eyeing the back of Hope’s head with guilt. She glances away when the pureblood catches her, bringing one hand down to rub nervously over her thigh. 

Hope places her own hand on top of Josie’s and leans up so that they’re eye to eye, breath for breath. The brunette’s skin jumps underneath her touch, so slightly that Hope wonders if she imagined it. 

She ignores the ever-present ache in her skull from sitting up at this angle. She would rather die than stop now. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

If the words escape her mouth, Hope does not claim them. She simply runs her tongue along her suddenly very chapped, dry lips, and tilts her head forward. Her breath hitches, but she recovers quickly enough. 

Josie meets her in the middle, her eyelids fluttering shut in time with Hope’s racing heart. They’re so close now that Hope has stopped breathing completely, but Josie clearly hasn’t. 

The brunette’s shaky breath scorches Hope’s lips for just a second, and then she pulls away with all the suddenness of a cold shower. 

Josie stands up and turns her back on Hope, but the pureblood does not miss the way she briefly brings her fingertips to her mouth. She drops them quickly enough. 

“We should talk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c u soon


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay

Hope quickly attempts to stand up with the girl pacing back and forth in front of her, which is just about the worst possible choice she can make. 

Blood rushes to her head, makes her dizzy, and sends her staggering with black dots in her vision. She trips on the pink blanket still half-wrapped around her and collapses back onto the bed in seconds. 

Josie is quick to come to her side, only catching the tail-end of Hope’s struggle since her back was turned. Great. 

“No, no.” She moves Hope back into the position she was in earlier, with her head to the pillow. “Stay put. You need to rest.” 

Hope clenches her eyes shut as she wills the pain to disappear, trying to ignore the way Josie just told her to stay put like some common house pet. Her fists remain tightened in her lap until her vision clears. 

What does Josie not understand about this? Can’t she see that right now is no time to rest? 

“I cannot rest when I know that I have hurt you, Josette,” the pureblood growls out in earnest, annoyed at herself for attempting to make a move and then getting consequently shot down. 

Merlin. How _humiliating_. Will there ever come a time when Josie doesn’t reject her? Hope doesn’t see one in the near future. 

“You’re so dramatic sometimes.” The brunette rolls her eyes and moves away, but Hope pretends not to hear her words or see the look and pushes on. 

“In truth,” she tells Josie, her eyes dark and regretful, “I don’t know why I said those things I did. I was looking for someone to blame, and I’m sorry I allowed that person to be you.”

Hope looks at the blanket in her lap, feeling embarrassed. Apologies can be tricky. “The fault is all mine. You will never have to worry about me taking my anger out on you or your sister again.” 

Josie blinks, the expression on her face blank. It seems that Hope’s words mean nothing to her. Not without action, perhaps. 

Hope swallows thickly, trying to skim through her mind for some sort of grand gesture. It’s not like Josie had appreciated the flowers or food, so what’s next? 

“If you would like,” she begins slowly, heart jumping into her throat at the thought of what she’s about to propose, “maybe we could tell your sister about us?” 

She fixes her eyes back to her lap, unable to watch Josie’s reaction for this part. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for more than that,” she continues, a rapid litany of _coward, coward, coward_ shooting through her mind, “but I want to be braver for you. If you’ll let me....” 

“....After all that I’ve done,” she adds, an afterthought, her tone acid. She thinks that her voice is small enough that Josie might not have heard any of her words at all. 

“You really mean that?” 

Hope shoots her head up, surprised at the hope she can clearly hear in the other girl’s voice. Josie does not allow their eyes to meet and blushes, ducking her head down and starting to fiddle with her fingers and pull on them. 

“We don’t have to tell Lizzie...” she trails off, but Hope knows that she wants to by the way she keeps flickering her shy gaze up—by the dim, hopeful light in her dark eyes. 

The pureblood quirks up a smile. 

“If you don’t tell her, I will,” she jokes. “It’s only fair, after all. One of my friends knows. You might as well let someone else, too.” 

Josie, quite literally, squeaks in excitement. Hope watches her with amusement, raising her eyebrows as Josie places her hand over her heart and sighs dramatically. 

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that,” the brunette says, her smile so bright and blinding that Hope thinks that she’s passed out again. 

“I’m not very good at keeping secrets,” Josie starts to babble, talking so fast that Hope’s brain struggles to keep up. “In all honesty, the sneaking around has been killing me. I was so happy when you asked me out to the ball in public—“ 

She stops herself short, and Hope winces, knowing what’s to come. 

“But then I remembered Lizzie telling me what had happened out in the corridor.” Another wince. “And suddenly I found myself saying yes to someone I didn’t even want to go with.” 

Oh. 

Right. 

_Maddy_. 

“Right,” Hope clips, out loud. She had almost forgot. When she speaks, her voice is emotionless. “Raichter.”

Josie does not respond, causing the corner of Hope’s mouth to twitch miserably. Hours of time spent jealous and angry flash within her mind in the blink of an eye. 

“She helped you to your room.” A statement. 

“Yes.” 

“Did you sleep with her?” 

“_Hope_.” 

The pureblood sighs, unable to feel anything but that familiar green-eyed monster crawling up her lungs and squeezing with every breath. 

She knows that Josie didn’t sleep with the blonde, that Josie would _never_ do that, but it’s getting hard to remember why not. 

“Sorry, it’s just—“ She takes another deep inhale, trying to recover from her bout of jealousy. Each passing second does nothing to help. Simply waiting for it to pass had been a mistake. 

“Now that we’re being honest and everything,” Hope says, “that kind of hurt me.” 

She looks away—but had she ever really met Josie’s eyes in the first place?—a familiar lump of emotion forming in her throat. 

“I mean it, uh, _really_ hurt me,” she clarifies, only relaxing the tight set of her jaw when a hand curls around her cheek. She glances up, forgetting her anger the moment she looks into Josie’s eyes. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” the brunette tells her. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get a rise out of you, I was...” 

Her throat bobs. “I was trying to make you jealous.” 

Duh. 

It fucking worked. 

Hope would applaud her if not for the seriousness of the situation.

“I was trying to make you hurt like I was,” she goes on, “I completely regret all of it. I want to say it was because I was drunk, but you know me better than that. What happened with Madeline was a mistake. I should have never accepted her invitation. I’m so sorry.” 

Hope says nothing at all. That seems to worry Josie, who suddenly stands up. 

“Maybe I can go find her and—“ 

“You can’t simply take it back,” Hope cuts her off, sitting up and pulling her back by her arm. She moves to the edge of the bed and beckons Josie to sit next to her. 

She almost loses her train of thought when the muggleborn interlaces their fingers and tugs their clasped hands into her lap. Almost. 

“You’re a Slytherin now.” Hope lightly swipes her thumb along Josie’s, her tone soft, wanting to say this the nicest way she can. She offhandedly thinks that the muggleborn’s hand is no longer cold. “Going back on your word is a death sentence.” 

She does her best not to scowl. “You’ll have to attend the ball with her, however much it pains me to say it.” 

“Ugh.” Josie pouts, curling her body into Hope’s and hiding her face into the crook of the pureblood’s neck. “I hope she just ditches me at the entrance.” 

Hope wishes that they could stay in this moment forever, with Josie’s lips brushing her skin with every word and her hot breath puffing against her pulse point with every exhale. 

It’s all over too soon. Josie leans back some, her eyes growing wide as if something mildly horrifying has just dawned on her. 

“Do you think I’ll have to dance with her?” Hope raises her eyebrows. 

“I’m not very good at dancing,” Josie confesses. “I don’t even know how to waltz.” 

Hope chuckles for a few seconds, but slowly stops when she realizes that Josie actually seems...serious. 

“Wait.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not joking?” 

Josie shakes her head. 

“But you did so well at the Halloween party.” Hope knits her eyebrows together, confused. 

“Really?” Josie giggles, something light and care free as her lips split into a smile. Hope wants to lean forward and steal the brunette’s laughter with her own lips, but she restrains herself enough to stay still. “I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I was trying so hard not to step on your feet. I guess I just got..._lucky_.” 

She smiles like she’s thinking of an inside joke Hope isn’t a part of. It completely misses the pureblood that Josie might have used Felix Felicis that night, too. 

“I can assure you,” Hope says, bringing their intertwined hands up to her lips and leaving a soft kiss on Josie’s knuckles. “I was the lucky one.” 

She thinks back to that night, and how she had thought that Josie was the best partner she had ever danced with. And then, later, when she had followed the muggleborn to their common room and had kissed her on the stairs.

“I can’t believe you let me kiss you,” Hope blurts, flushing slightly when she realizes what she had just accidentally admitted out loud. She longs to turn away but Josie holds her gaze, kind and unassuming, a silent inquiry to continue. Hope does.

“It was everything I wanted but nothing I could admit to myself,” she says, and if her voice is a little wistful and bitter, well, they don’t need to talk about that. 

“Then, again, in the Prefects bathroom...” Hope chuckles, her eyes glinting darkly with desire as she thinks about it. Her smirk turns secret. “You have no idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off of you.” 

“Oh?” Josie inches her fingers high up on her thigh, moving their clasped hands to rest against the forgotten blanket. Hope’s heart stutters in her chest as the brunette leans in, lips directly against her ear. Tone suggestive, she practically purrs, “What’s stopping you now?” 

When her teeth lightly scrape Hope’s earlobe, the pureblood’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Later, Hope will curse herself for the whimper she lets out in this moment, but for now, she doesn’t care one bit. 

The second Josie leans away, Hope wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into a kiss. It’s soft at first, really just a press of lips against lips—really just Hope waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn’t, she allows Josie’s body to settle on top of her own, allows the brunette to push her back against the pillows. 

Her fingers find Josie’s hips somewhere along the way—Hope can’t really remember when she had stopped holding the other girl’s hand—and then the kiss starts to get a little..._intense_. 

Josie’s own hands sit on her shoulders as she makes herself comfortable in Hope’s lap. The pureblood sits up slightly to meet her push for push and pull for pull, tasting something minty fresh like toothpaste when she swipes her tongue briefly against Josie’s bottom lip. 

Not wanting to scare Josie away, she keeps her tongue in her mouth and tries her best to keep things pure and innocent. 

Josie is clearly not thinking along the same lines, because she slips her tongue between Hope’s lips not a second later and the pureblood forgets all sense of chastity. 

Her hands grip firm on Josie’s hips, fingers digging in so tightly that Hope fears that the pressure might leave bruises. Yet, a very tiny, dangerous side to Hope finds the possessive contact exhilarating, and so her hold on Josie only tightens. 

Almost as if punishing her for it, a flash of pain hits her hard and hot just at the back of her head. 

Hope chokes on a pained groan, but Josie doesn’t seem to notice. The muggleborn only readjusts herself to straddle Hope more firmly, and Hope suddenly finds herself out of breath and wholly unable to resist surrendering all control to Josie. 

She draws back and lets the other girl lean down to attack her neck, trying to focus on the feeling of Josie’s lips against her skin instead of the throbbing in her head. 

A large part of Hope is content to remain in this bubble with Josie. A large part of her is content to pretend that they’re only two teenagers making out in Josie’s bedroom and it isn’t bigger than that. As long as they keep kissing, Hope can love Josie and be loved in return without anything coming in between them. 

“Are you...okay?” Josie pants into her ear, seconds later, perhaps noticing that something is wrong. 

“Wh-what?” Hope struggles to catch her own breath, struggles to even open her eyes. The phantom of Josie’s lips skimming over her pulse point is too strong of a pull to hold out against and turn away from. 

“You’re breathing really hard,” the muggleborn says, even as her own chest visibly heaves for air. 

Hope shakes her head, wanting to go back to kissing. She likes kissing—she likes kissing _Josie_, in particular—even if it makes her head spin in a way that isn’t completely good for her right now. “No, no, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” 

Josie nods and reattaches her mouth to Hope’s again, humming softly when the pureblood slips her hands from her hips to underneath her shirt. 

She slowly itches her fingers to the small of the brunette’s back, tracing random designs and eliciting a low moan against her lips. 

Of course, her hands fall out of Josie’s shirt pretty quickly when the other girl suddenly dips her mouth down to the sensitive spot above Hope’s collarbone and sucks the skin there. Very enthusiastically. Very.

“_Agh_—“ Hope bites down on her lip to stop _that_ particular noise from coming out, her fingers clutching at the sheets with a white-knuckled grip, her hips canting up but stopped by Josie’s weight on top of them. It certainly doesn’t help matters when the pureblood can practically feel Josie’s satisfied smile against her neck. 

Hope scolds herself inwardly, clenching her eyes shut and promising that she will definitely never make another sound like that ever again. Ever. 

Yes. She just needs to distract herself. 

_Hmm_. 

The bed sheets feel quite nice beneath her fingers. Soft, but not scratchy like silk can get sometimes. Hope doesn’t think it’s cotton. What material does that leave? Linen, maybe?

“I like your bed,” Hope blurts, just as she feels the edge of Josie’s teeth along that same spot. 

She holds in her breath and steels herself to make another embarrassing noise, but it never comes. Instead, Josie pauses, backing away and allowing Hope to sit up again. 

“Yeah?” 

Hope nods and lets out the breath she had been holding. “It’s comfortable, I guess. And it smells like you—“ 

Only for her to stop breathing altogether.

Right on top of Hope—on Hope’s lap—Josie crosses her arms and pulls up on the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head and peeling the long sleeves off her arms slowly. She throws the piece of clothing behind her without care, barely noticing the Mikaelson heir under her that she has just rendered completely speechless. 

“What do I smell like?” Josie asks, almost obliviously, looking back down at Hope. And Hope—

Well, only a thin slit of blue is left in Hope’s eyes from how much her pupils have dilated. They track the small rise and fall of Josie’s breasts, covered by a simple, white bra. 

“You...” Hope trails off, trying not to be obvious with her staring but she is finding that very, very difficult right about now. Josie is also starting to get a little uncomfortable, which effectively pulls the pureblood out of her stupor. 

“You smell like magic,” Hope tells the brunette, her eyes still slightly glazed over, her mind left reeling in a fantasy world. She moves her lips forward, stealing a soft kiss on the underside of Josie’s jaw. “You taste like it, too.” 

The muggleborn noticeably shivers, goosebumps erupting underneath Hope’s trailing mouth before she decides to pull away. Josie seems a bit overwhelmed, if the way she is looking at Hope right now is anything to go by. 

Suddenly, her lips shoots towards Hope’s own, probably at a well-meaning attempt to reconnect their mouths, but all Hope can feel is the absolute agony of their heads banging against each other. 

She ends up screaming like the little girl she was ten years ago, the contact reverberating throughout her entire skull and sending her lurching back. 

Josie instantly scrambles off of her, but Hope can’t notice anything but the utter torture that seems to inflict her whole body. She cradles her head in her hands, giving another small yelp when she accidentally rubs against a rather large bump. 

Shit. _That_ hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had, and she just hadn’t noticed before. Had the pill stopped working? 

“Crap. Crap. Crap. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.” 

A string of barely-curses—do those even count?—sound from Josie. _Seriously? _What the fuck? Does this girl not know how to use profanity correctly? 

Fingers wrap around her wrist and tug her hands insistently away from her head. “Hope. Hope. Let me see. Hope, please.” 

Hope clamps her eyes shut, hoping that she isn’t crying right now. That would be the worst thing possible.

“Do you need to go to the hospital wing?” 

Hope shakes her head quickly, whining when it only makes the pain worse. Fuck. Merlin. 

“Should I go get Madame Pomfrey?” She hears movement, which is probably Josie putting her shirt back on. Great. Another reason Hope hates herself. 

“No, no,” she speaks through the pain, trying hard not to grind her teeth together. The hands protecting her injury tighten into fists. “Don’t—please don’t go.” 

“I just...” The pain slowly starts to ebb away. She sighs, giving into the impulse to grind her teeth together. “Just give me a minute.” 

A minute passes, and Hope recovers. She keeps her eyes closed, though, too embarrassed to do anything else. 

“I’m sorry for ruining the mood,” she finally whispers, after what feels like hours, but really is only about another minute, feeling Josie’s ceaseless eyes on her. 

Josie laughs with no humor, her hand still clutching a fistful of the material of Hope’s shirt from earlier, when she couldn’t seem to disconnect from the pureblood, when she couldn’t seem to separate from her. 

“I’m sorry for throwing you into a shelf,” Josie says, her tone beyond pitiful. Hope wants nothing more than to make her feel better. 

“Accidental magic,” she clips, smiling. She looks a bit deranged, grinning with her eyes still closed, but Josie’s grip on her shirt loosens all the same. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”

“No, I guess not.” The muggleborn laughs again, but this time it’s more pathetic than the last. Her laughter cracks at the edges, turning into what sounds a bit like a...sob? 

“God,” Josie mutters, almost to herself, “that was so scary.” 

It makes Hope open her eyes alarmingly fast, instantly frowning when she sees that the other girl’s own are wet and that her cheeks are already tear-tracked. 

How long has she been crying without Hope noticing? 

“I’m _fine_,” she tries to reassure the other girl, but the words don’t seem to help Josie at all. 

“You weren’t.” Josie wipes a bit frustratedly at her face to dry it, letting go of Hope’s shirt to do so. Hope misses the warmth of her hand at once. 

“When it first happened,” the muggleborn explains, “you took so long to wake up. For a second...”

The pureblood feels her heart drop at the unmistakable anguish written clear on Josie’s face. 

“I thought I lost you.” 

The pureblood sits up and reaches out towards Josie, brushing her thumb up and down the wet trail of the other girl’s left cheek. Uselessly, she says, “Don’t cry.” 

“I’m _trying_,” Josie tells her, between laughs and sobs. Hope watches, entirely transfixed but also entirely _scared out of her mind_. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

Poor, poor Hope. 

She doesn’t get it at all. 

Sure, she had been passed out for what she guesses is a little more time than normal, but she’s fine now. 

It’s not like she had _died_ or anything. 

“It’s so silly.” Josie waves her hands in front of her face like a fan, batting away Hope’s own. “Ignore me, I’m overreacting.” 

“Josie.” Hope repeats, voice a little unwavering, “What’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s just—“ She shakes her head, pausing for the right words. “You fell.” 

“You fell,” she says, again, her breath coming in little stutters and pants. Hope imagines that she’s trying not to cry again. She has the thought that if Josie keeps this up, she might join her sooner or later. No. She can’t do that. She has already cried all her tears today. “As if it was the easiest thing in the world. You don’t think that things like that can happen.” 

“So quickly,” she emphasizes, running her hands through her hair and not making an inch of sense. “One second we were just arguing and then the next—silence.” 

“You don’t think that it can happen—that you can be so alive, so here, here with _me_,” Josie continues, grabbing both of Hope’s hands as if trying to make her understand, “and then the next second you’re on the floor, and you’re not moving, not breathing, not—_not_ here with me.” 

Oh. 

Hope understands very quickly, now. 

“I am here with you,” she says, her own voice a bit hoarse, almost like she’s forgotten how to talk and hasn’t spoken in ages. 

Well, it’s definitely the wrong thing to say because Josie starts crying again. 

Feeling unsure of what to do, Hope leans forward and pulls the other girl into a hug, patting her back awkwardly as Josie muffles her cries into her shoulder. The position of trying to hug someone on top of a bed is a little hard to get used to, but Hope finds herself relaxing into it when the fruity scent of Josie’s shampoo starts to pervade her senses. 

“Okay,” the pureblood breathes. Another awkward pat. More muffled crying.

Clearly, this whole hug-comforting thing isn’t working, since Josie is still sniffling and Hope’s left shoulder is growing damper with snot by the second. 

“How can I help?” she tries, transitioning from awkward pats to rubbing soothing circles on the muggleborn’s back. 

Hope regrets speaking up when Josie softens somewhat and pulls away, the calming pressure of their bodies pressing against one another disappearing. Still, Hope’s hands continue their ministrations of Josie’s back, unable to completely break off contact. 

She gives the other girl a second to dry her face and wipe away her tears completely, giving _herself_ a second to allow her hands to wander. 

“Can you just...” Josie’s words fall away, her eyes fluttering shut as Hope’s fingers travel a little too low. She snakes her own hands behind her back and stops them, smiling and shaking her head slightly. “...Take my mind off of it?” 

Yes.

Hope can definitely do that. 

Nodding with a small smirk, she leans forward and curls her fingers along Josie’s sides, bringing the girl down on top of her as her head hits the pillow again. 

She then plants a close-mouthed kiss on the curve of Josie’s jaw, and then another one below it. The brunette jumps at the first swipe of a hot tongue, shoving Hope away with a small giggle. 

“No, not like that,” she laughs out and sits up, eyes a lot brighter than they had been just moments before. Hope pouts and props herself up on her elbows. 

“Why not?” 

Josie raises her eyebrows, a little amused, but her eyes spark with something sad. “I don’t want you to get hurt again. We have a tendency to get a little...carried away.” 

“Oh.” Right. That makes sense. It’s probably best that they stop making out before Hope has no other choice but to pay Pomfrey a visit. “Then how did you mean it?” 

Josie turns shy, almost hiding her face as she lays down next to Hope, not looking at her. 

“Cuddle with me?” she murmurs, so quietly that Hope almost doesn’t hear it. Her next words are even quieter. Even _more_ shy. “And maybe, tell me a story?” 

The pureblood turns on her side, too, facing Josie’s back. Why is Josie turned away from her? “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.” 

Her eyes linger on the bit of skin exposed from Josie’s long-sleeve riding up. She almost reaches out to touch the other girl, but decides that that wouldn’t be appropriate. 

“Which one?” Josie’s voice sounds soft. Nervous. 

Hope tries her hardest not to crack a smile, even though Josie won’t be able to see it. She fears the expression might leak into her voice. “Cod-el?” 

Josie’s head spins around so sharply that Hope thinks she might get caught staring at the other girl’s exposed skin. If the muggleborn catches her, she doesn’t mention it. 

“You’re joking,” Josie deadpans. Hope shakes her head, mirth hidden in the depths of her eyes. Josie glares at her for all of thirty seconds before she breaks. 

“Merlin,” she laughs. “Calm down. I _know_ what cuddling is.” 

Satisfied, Josie turns her head back around from the odd angle she had it in before and snuggles back into Hope, nearly sending her into cardiac arrest. The small, happy sigh the girl releases does nothing to settle the rapid pace of Hope’s heart. 

“You might have to guide me through it, though,” the pureblood attempts to sound offhand, but her words come out as embarrassingly earnest. She keeps her hands to herself, not really knowing what to do with them. She jokes, “Cuddling wasn’t a very..._popular_...pastime at the Mikaelson Manor.” 

Josie freezes, not terribly noticeable, but Hope can just make out the set of her back tensing. She immediately regrets mentioning that last part. She had meant to play off the words as lighthearted, but it’s obvious now that Josie hadn’t taken it that way. 

“It’s not that hard,” the brunette tells Hope, pressing back into her once more with a breathy, light exhale. Out of reflex, Hope places a hand on her hip to steady her. 

“See?” Hope can practically hear the smile in Josie’s voice. “You’re already getting the hang of it.” 

It makes Hope smile, too. She inches forward, slinging her arm over the other girl’s waist and bringing her front against Josie’s back. She softly strokes the revealed skin she had noticed earlier with her fingertips. 

There is nothing sexual about the action. It is only well-intentioned and _innocent_ when her fingers inch higher, and it is _still_ innocent when the tips of them dance over Josie’s ribs. 

Hope smiles secretly into Josie’s shoulder, only then remembering that she’s supposed to be telling a story or something right now. Fuck. Does she make one up or is Josie actually expecting to hear about Hope’s life? 

Her mind swarms as she searches for something to talk about, settling on that night mid-October that she had first seen Josie. 

“Do you remember that day we first met?” she asks, a whisper, her fingers buzzing with the warmth of Josie’s skin beneath them. The muggleborn nods almost imperceptibly. Hope wonders if this is the kind of story Josie wants to hear. “It wasn’t an official introduction, not really, but I remember seeing you from across the great hall and thinking that you were so, so beautiful.” 

She lowers her voice, becoming a little insecure at the admission. She thinks about how quickly things had gone to shit that night, especially when Josie’s name had been called for her sorting. “But when I heard your last name, it kind of changed things for us. For _me_, at least.” 

Hope chuckles as the night comes back to her. “And then you got sorted into Slytherin. It scared me—Merlin, it scared all of us. A muggleborn in Slytherin is virtually unheard of. Well, it _was_ virtually unheard of.” 

“Everyone was looking to me for direction,” she recounts, almost living through the fear all over again. But this time, she knows the ending. 

“I don’t know if you know this but...” Hope rests her hand flat against Josie’s stomach underneath her shirt. She can’t seem to stay away from the girl. “We’re supposed to clap when a student gets sorted into our house. All the others houses do it, too. It’s tradition, well, basic manners, actually.” 

“As a sort of welcoming,” she clarifies, for no real reason, “but everyone kind of froze up and they all decided that I was in charge ofwhether we were going to clap or not.” 

“And then I saw you again, and the choice suddenly became so easy,” Hope finishes, wondering if she should mention how bad she feels about what had happened later that night in the Slytherin common room. 

_ “I just don’t want you to waste a second thought on the likes of her.”  _

Should she apologize? Is it too late to do  that? Does Josie even remember that she had said those words? 

“Wait.” Hope stops herself short. “Why did you come to Hogwarts anyways? Beauxbatons is a pretty good school.” 

She imagines that Josie is blushing right now, since it takes her a little while to answer. 

“It’s a long story,” the muggleborn whispers, but Hope can’t exactly make out the tone of her voice. Is she sad? Nostalgic? 

“You can tell me,” Hope says, raking her nails lightly over Josie’s stomach. She wants to make sure that she knows that. She wants—

“I want to hear it, however long it takes.” 

“I...” Josie starts, with no small amount of reluctance. “As you probably know, my dad used to be a vampire hunter. He thought he was doing the right thing, but he learned pretty quickly that the right thing isn’t always the good thing to do.” 

The brunette shifts and turns, gulping so loudly that Hope audibly hears it. She mutters underneath her breath, almost as if her words are for herself rather than Hope, “Some of the vampires he killed weren’t even bad people.” 

She sounds...guilty. 

“As time passed,” Josie goes on, “he was exposed to other supernaturals, like werewolves and wizards. Sometimes he hunted _them_, too. When my mom had Lizzie and I, he knew right away that we were different—that we had _magic_. I kept accidentally setting things on fire and Lizzie kept breaking plates and silverware without meaning to.” 

She laughs at the end, obviously in her own head, reliving her memories. 

“It took my mom a little longer to believe that her own daughters were capable of the evil her husband hunted others for.” 

She pauses long enough that Hope wonders if the other girl is expecting her to say something, but the pureblood chooses not to. After a while, Josie continues. “My parents both agreed that we needed to get our magic under control, though. They first wanted to enroll us at Hogwarts after our eleventh birthdays, but my parents are cautious, _cautious_ people, so they naturally did some research.” 

She turns around in Hope’s hold, forcing their eyes to meet. Not expecting it, Hope sucks in a ragged breath and fights down the impulse to look away. She hasn’t seen Josie’s eyes in minutes, but looking into them now, she can clearly make out the fire within them. 

“Did you know that some girl died in this castle, in one of the bathrooms on the second floor?” Hope swallows. Josie looks really mad. “The school only investigated her death for three weeks. Three weeks! _Three_. That was all it took for them to give up.” 

The pureblood nods dumbly, throat thick with apprehension. 

“Yeah,” she says slowly, “I heard about that.” 

“Do you know her name?” Josie asks, suddenly, out of nowhere. 

“Her name?” No. Hope doesn’t. 

“Seylah Chelon.” 

Josie shakes her head, clearly annoyed but not at Hope. “She was found raped and beaten—poisoned by some type of black goo. How strange is that? Yet, no one can even be bothered to remember her name. She’s..._forgotten_.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hope apologizes, feeling bad since Josie seems to care a lot about this. The muggleborn shakes her head at her, only resuming her own story.

“My dad decided it wasn’t safe enough for us to go here,” she says. “My mom agreed, of course. Especially with your silly, little house divisions and everything.”

“House divisions?” Hope cuts in. 

“Sorting people into houses based on character traits is a flawed system,” Josie tells her, matter-of-fact. “It only divides us based on our similarities and forces us to hate our differences.” 

The pureblood scoffs. “That’s not true.” 

“What’s the deal with the prank war, then?” Josie shoots back easily, raising her eyebrows in emphasis. Hope glowers, scowling a little. Of course Josie’s right. 

“I mean, it does sound nice,” Josie concurs. “You know, a house where you can _belong_. When Lizzie and I were listening to my dad talk about what he learned about Hogwarts, we really fell in love with the ideas of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, of the ruthlessly brave and unapologetically loyal and wickedly intelligent.” 

She purses her lips, shrinking back into the bed and seemingly tired of holding herself up. The muggleborn looks to the ceiling, and Hopefollows her lead and does the same. Their hands meet in the middle, and all Hope can think is that she never wants to leave. 

“But _Slytherins_.” When Hope turns her head to glance over, Josie is wearing a small, sad smile. “The only thing my dad said about them was that ‘there wasn’t a single witch or wizard who went bad that wasn’t in Slytherin.’ He decided that he didn’t want us around anyone like that—anyone that could be a poor influence.” 

Hope bristles, hating Josie’s father the more she hears about him. What an insufferable man. 

Maybe seeing the look on her face and getting the wrong idea, Josie adds, “His words, not mine. No offense.” 

Hope arches an eyebrow in amusement but doesn’t say anything, only continuing to trace her fingers up and down Josie’s knuckles. Every touch the muggleborn reciprocates sends fire down her veins. 

“So, when we missed the deadline to enroll at Hogwarts, my dad sent us to Beauxbatons.” Hope nods. That makes sense. Not a lot of people go to Hogwarts if they don’t start there in the first place. Transfers have always been extremely rare. “It was a plus that no girl ever died in a random bathroom there, either.” 

“And things were good. Lizzie and I learned French. We trained our magic.” The smile that had been on Josie’s face up until this moment drops slightly. “But, things stopped being good after a few years. When we turned thirteen, Lizzie started having these mood swings...”

Josie’s lips thin into a straight line, a corner of her mouth pulling in as she bites the inside of her cheek. “Dad and Mom took her to a doctor. He diagnosed her with bipolar disorder and put her on medication, which helped a little for a couple of years.” 

Suddenly, Josie’s hold on her hand tightens. Hope squeezes back, but the muggleborn doesn’t loosen her grip. The pureblood fears that she might start to lose her circulation. 

“My sister stopped taking her medication this summer. She thought that she was doing better, and didn’t like the way the pills made her feel.” She shakes her head, almost laughing with disbelief. Hope looks over at her, but Josie doesn’t meet her eyes. “Then, when school started up again, she became irritated and angry with everyone. Even with me—_especially_ with me. She started to get annoyed at the most simplest of things and had outbursts nearly every day.” 

A silence follows that drags on for so long that knots begin to form in Hope’s stomach. She moves their clasped hands over the spot, if only to untie them. 

“A couple of weeks into the new semester, she couldn’t deal with it anymore and had a major episode in front of the whole school.” The pureblood has never heard her voice as soft as it is now. “People talked—people we didn’t know, people we thought we did. They made it hard for the both of us. The school stopped being our safe place.” 

Hope gets the sudden, intense desire to storm down to Beauxbatons and perform an Unforgivable. She waits for the urge to pass in the pause Josie takes. It does not. 

“Finally, we just decided that we couldn’t put up with it anymore,” the brunette says. “Enough can only be enough for so long, after all.” 

Finally, she turns her head and meets Hope’s eyes. “We convinced our parents that we would be safe at Hogwarts as long as we stayed together. Dad put in a transfer right away, and Dumbledore was kind enough to approve it even though the semester had already started.” 

She smiles at Hope, but it seems tired and it doesn’t reach her eyes. Hope regrets bringing this all up in the first place, not because it makes her uncomfortable, but because it so obviously makes Josie. 

“And then Lizzie got sorted into Gryffindor while I sorted into Slytherin.” 

Josie absentmindedly drums her fingers against Hope’s knuckles, sitting up with the conclusion to the story. Hope comes up with her. “Well, you know how that went.“ 

The pureblood frowns at one side of her mouth, drawing her eyebrows together. She clears her throat, speaking up, “I know you think of it as a bad thing, but...” 

“I’m glad that you’re here. With me. In Slytherin,” Hope reiterates, making sure Josie understands every word. “If you had sorted Hufflepuff or—Merlin forbid—_Gryffindor_, I doubt any of this would have happened.” 

Their knees are touching from how close they are, and Hope doesn’t think before moving forward and softly touching Josie’s lips to hers. She backs away after a few seconds, mouth tingling. 

“You’re the best thing in my life,” she admits, because the words seem so easy now, sitting in Josie’s bed, holding Josie’s hand, talking to Josie without a worry in the world. Seeing Josie’s smile makes everything easier. “Without you I was...” 

Hope brings her eyes to the ceiling, as if looking somewhere distant will bring forth the past. It doesn’t. “I can’t even remember how I used to be. That’s how awful I was.” 

“But I know for sure that I was going down the wrong path,” she tells the brunette, so easily, and everything is easy, easy, easy now. Easy. She jokes, “I was falling long before you threw me into a shelf.” 

“I think...”

A burst of emotion sits heavy in her chest. Hope speaks only to free it. “I think you saved me.” 

Josie leans forward and surges their lips together once more, and Hope finds that the emotion weighing on her chest is no longer heavy at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so this note is kind of long, but my boss decided it would be funny to have me work 24/7 so it’s been getting harder and harder to put out quick updates and i might not for another couple of weeks
> 
> i have a couple of already written other short stories from a few months ago that i might post just so i can get stuff out and feel productive, but yeah.
> 
> next chapters: mostly fluff, girls tell lizzie about their relationship, dance lessons, more fluff, christmas crap :( yuck, hogsmeade shopping, fluff, hope’s family character introductions
> 
> also, thank you for all the comments! i truly appreciate them and i know i take a long time to reply but i read each and every one of them :)


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end, folks :)

They tell Elizabeth on a Tuesday. 

Tuesday—which also happens to be the day the blonde receives a failing mark on her Astrology test, so Hope already knows that she’ll be in a foul mood. 

Yay. 

That’s how the pureblood finds herself leaning against a random wall in the third floor corridor, her surroundings illuminated only by the single torch nearby as she waits for Josie and her sister to arrive at their agreed meeting place. 

A small part of Hope is very, very paranoid right now. Merlin forbid someone catch her here and inquire as to why she’s standing by herself in the dark. Merlin forbid that someone be Argus Filch. 

It _is_ past curfew, after all. 

Yet, that isn’t the only reason Hope is feeling nervous. For the life of her, she can’t imagine how Elizabeth will react when she learns of her and Josie’s relationship. 

Will she be like Rose, who knew without words and could only offer her support? 

Or will she lash out, instead, denying everything and hurting her sister? 

What if she even decides to kill Hope? 

The pureblood honestly doesn’t know what will happen. She just hopes that everything works out. For Josie. 

Besides, it’s not like Elizabeth will go blabbing their secret off to everyone, right? 

_Right_? 

Hope kicks off of the wall as she hears the sound of hurried footsteps in the distance. She looks from left to right, opening her mouth to call out into the dark when a pair of lips ghost over her own and effectively silence her. 

Hope crumbles back into the wall, clutching at Josie’s robes to steady herself, but the muggleborn pulls away all too soon. 

“Hey,” she giggles out, but she looks nervous. Breathless. Hope is panting, too, even though they’ve just barely kissed for five seconds. “Lizzie’s right behind me.” 

Hope smiles, allowing Josie to reach out and stroke her hair. The other girl seems to melt into her, almost like she’s searching for comfort. Hope draws her eyebrows together. 

“Are you ready?” she asks in a whisper, the other pair of footsteps approaching them faster and faster with every passing second. Josie nods, suckling her lip into her mouth, before shaking her head. 

“Josie! Where are you?” someone yells. Hmm. It’s probably Elizabeth. She still sounds pretty far away, but her steps echo like they’re not a feet away from the pair. Josie cringes, shrinking in on herself. 

Hope watches her carefully, eyes narrowed in concern. Without thinking, or perhaps thinking too much, she intertwines Josie’s nearest hand with her own and pulls her closer, kissing her knuckles softly. 

“It’ll be okay,” she tells Josie, making sure her voice doesn’t shake. Fuck. She is so afraid, so fucking scared, but she needs to be strong for Josie. 

She needs to be brave. Braver. 

At the same time, Hope honestly can’t believe that she’s here right now, doing this—doing this with Josie, in particular. She never thought she would ever tell anyone at all, but standing here now, with Josie by her side, it’s a lot easier to think about. 

“I know.” The muggleborn squeezes their hands, flickering her gaze up to Hope’s and then back to the floor. “Just, uh...” 

“Kiss me again?” she asks, shyly, as if Hope’s lips give her strength, and the pureblood feels nothing but strong when she leans forward and claims Josie’s mouth with her own. 

It’s only a simple peck, really, just their lips gently brushing against each other’s for a moment or two. 

Still, it makes Hope feel dizzy and undeniably overwhelmed. Despite the many times they’ve done this before, the pace of her heart quickens all the same. She briefly wonders if Josie can hear it. 

They only stop kissing when that same pair of footsteps comes close, and then closer yet.Josie leans away and steps back, but she doesn’t disconnect their hands. 

“If this is your idea of a fun night sneaking out past curfew...” Elizabeth’s loud voice appears around the other side of the corridor, begging for Filch to give them all detention. She finally rounds the corner, continuing, “I must say, I am _tremendously_ disappointed. I have been chasing you around for the last fifteen minutes—“ 

She stops herself short when she catches sight of Hope. It appears that she hadn’t seen her before. 

“Oh,” she breathes, twisting her face in confusion. She then narrows her eyes, pulling out her wand in a flash and pointing it right at Hope. “Mikaelson.” 

A moment passes, where Elizabeth seems to come to a startling realization, but not the right one. She still hasn’t noticed that Hope and Josie are holding hands. 

“Wait.” She grins, looking at her sister. She lowers her wand an inch or two, but not completely. “This just got so much better than I thought it would.” 

Hope gulps down the nervous mess in her throat, eyeing the wand dangling from the blonde’s fingers lazily. Her fingers itch to reach for her own wand, where it lies in the sleeve of her robe, but she ignores the urge. 

“What should we do to her?” Damn. Elizabeth clearly thinks that this meeting was accidental or something. She starts to babble on evilly, “What about a stinging jinx? Oh, wait, I know, let’s do the tickling charm, it should—“ 

“Lizzie,” Josie cuts her off, voice more dangerous and low than Hope has ever heard it before. She steps forward, bringing the pureblood with her since their hands are still clasped firmly together. 

“We are not doing anything to her.” She takes the last step between her and her sister, coming so close that Elizabeth’s wand begins to dig into her stomach. Hope resists the impulse to pull Josie back and stand protectively in front of her. 

The muggleborn lowers her voice even further, almost like a hiss. “And you will not touch a single hair on her head.”

Hope smirks, feeling a little smug. 

Only then does Elizabeth realize that they’re holding hands. 

“Oh, god.” She scrunches up her face in a weird combination of disgust and confusion as she lowers her wand completely, eyes darting between Hope and Josie. “Why are you two holding hands?” 

She doesn’t give them a second to answer before asking yet another question. “Did Vector curse you with that jinx again?” 

Hope cocks her head to the side as that day comes back to her. She tries her best not to zone out as she remembers the feeling of holding Josie’s hand for several hours. 

Thinking about it now, Hope can faintly recall spending that night trying to figure out who had cursed them. 

Professor Vector had been the most likely suspect. 

“Wait,” she says, pausing. Her gaze finds Elizabeth’s, lips parting and closing in a rather undignified manner. “You suspected it was her as well?” 

“Duh.” Elizabeth rolls her eyes like it’s obvious. “I don’t even have to be in that class to know it. She was the obvious culprit.” 

“_Right_?” Hmm. Maybe Elizabeth isn’t the ditzy blonde Hope had presumed her to be. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Guys,” Josie snaps the pair out of it, huffing slightly. “That isn’t even remotely relevant—“ 

“Wait.” Elizabeth leans back as she darts her eyes from Hope to Josie back to Hope. Josie bristles, nose flaring and lips pouting at getting ignored again. “Why are you holding hands, then?” 

“Lizzie.” The brunette brushes the pad of her thumb along the skin of Hope’s own. She gives the pureblood a weak, reassuring smile. “Hope and I—“ 

“Hope?” Elizabeth wrinkles her nose in distaste. The name falls from her lips slimey and distrustful. It just sounds...wrong. “Since when we do we call Evil Spawn that?” 

Evil Spawn. 

Huh. Hope likes that much better.

“Will you just let me finish?” Josie sighs, exasperated. Hope is honestly fine with this back and forth, as long as it prolongs the moment Elizabeth finally knows that they’re together.

Yeah. She is so fucking scared. 

Elizabeth rolls her eyes, but nods and gestures for her sister to continue. 

“We’re together,” Josie blurts, so suddenly that it gives Hope whiplash when she spins her head around to look at her. Hmm. She had thought they would ease into it. Clearly not. Hope keeps her eyes on the brunette, not wanting to see Elizabeth’s reaction. 

A little shyly, Josie adds, “Whether you like it or not.” 

Elizabeth starts laughing. Josie gives her about a minute to digest the information, before she continues. 

“I’m serious, Lizzie,” she says, a deep frown on her face. Her grip on Hope’s hand becomes deadly, and Hope lets out a small, pained whimper. She thinks her bones might break if Josie doesn’t loosen up a little. Merlin. 

“No, no, you’re not,” Elizabeth tells her sister, putting her hand over her heart as she catches her breath from all the laughing. “Nice try, but I’m not stupid, Josie. Obviously, this is all just some elaborate prank. I don’t know how you managed to rope her into it, but it’s clear to me now that you’ve chosen sides, and it’s even clearer that you’re a snake, through and through.” 

Fuck. Does Elizabeth really think that this is just some joke for the prank war? The pureblood had been hoping she wouldn’t, but she definitely understands how something like this can be sort of hard to believe. 

“This isn’t for the prank war, Lizzie!” 

The blonde ignores her sister, suddenly fixing her gaze on Hope and looking her up and down with a calculating glint in her eye. 

“Hold on.” She smirks, almost delighting herself in being right. She leans closer, poking Hope’s collarbone through her robe with a single finger. “I bet you’re not even the _real_ Mikaelson.” 

Josie grabs Elizabeth’s finger roughly and pushes her away, scowling. The move is a little possessive and and a tad territorial, but Hope allows it to happen, unable to stop the warmth leaking into her chest like sunlight. 

“Is this the work of a polyjuice potion?” Elizabeth continues, more for herself than for Hope and Josie. She starts to think out loud, crossing her arms and tucking away her wand back into her pocket. “Who are you? Let me guess...MG?” 

She shakes her head at herself. “No, I saw MG before I left. You must be Emma or Anna. Or Raf. No, Raf is too dim-witted to pull off something like this. And Anna wanted to get some sleep before her Divinations quiz tomorrow.” 

Elizabeth snaps her fingers and nods vehemently, having figured it out. Or so, she thinks. “Yup, you’re Emma.” 

A beat passes. 

“Okay,” she says, making a shooing motion with her hand. “This was funny while it lasted, you can come out with it, Emma.” 

“Lizzie,” Josie emphasizes her name for the hundredth time, trying to get it through the blonde’s evidently thick skull. “Stop. Hope is real. _This_ is real.” 

Elizabeth blinks quickly, looking between Hope and Josie with her nose scrunched up. She stares for about an entire minute, several different emotions flashing across her eyes so quickly that Hope doesn’t catch a single one. 

Whatever the blonde had been looking for, she must not have found it, because she visibly deflates. 

“No. _No_. It’s not.” Her voice is heavy on denial. Hope feels nausea claw up her throat with both hands and two fistfuls of sharp nails. She swallows it down with one messy gulp. “Josie, please, if this is a prank, tell me now.” 

The muggleborn doesn’t say anything, only biting her lip as her sister unravels in front of her. Hope gently strokes Josie’s thumb with her own to provide any sort of comfort. 

“Tell me, Josie,” Elizabeth lowers her voice, as if anyone could hear them this late at night anyway, “that you haven’t been sneaking around with a blood purist behind my back, that—“ 

Her voice sharply cuts off, and a deep inhale echoes in the space between the three of them. “Tell me that you haven’t been fraternizing with the enemy.” 

“The _enemy_?” Josie raises her voice, anger written clear across her face. Elizabeth doesn’t falter. 

“She is the bane of my existence,” she hisses, leaning in. “_Our_ existence.” 

“Or have you forgotten?” Josie swallows loudly enough for Hope to hear it next to her. For her part, Hope swallows just as loudly. It’s not enough to clear the lump in her throat like it had been before. “People like her have tormented people like us for centuries.” 

Hope winces, opening her mouth to apologize or explain or say something, _anything_ at all to convince Elizabeth, but the blonde doesn’t let her and only continues her little reign of terror. 

“How could you?” she asks, sounding like Hope and Josie just cut the head off of her owl or something. Merlin. The girl’s so dramatic. Hope resists the impulse to roll her eyes. “How could you let her do this to you?” 

Elizabeth then shakes her head resolutely. “No, no, I can’t blame you,” she tells her sister. “She’s obviously manipulated you or something.” 

She fixes her dangerous gaze on Hope. “You put her under some kind of spell, didn’t you?” 

Hope shakes her head in earnest, but once again, Elizabeth doesn’t let her speak. “What did you do? Did you imperio her? Dose her with a love potion?” 

Hope wrinkles her nose in distaste. She isn’t that juvenile. “Of course not—“ 

“Don’t be silly, Lizzie,” Josie cuts in. Hope lets go of her hand a bit petulantly and crosses her arms, feeling invisible. “She would never do that. She isn’t the person you think she is. Not at all. Please give her a chance...” 

Quietly, she adds, “Like you did with Sebastian.” 

Hope cringes almost instantly. Bringing up Sebastian will only seem to make the situation worse. 

“Don’t say his name,” Elizabeth snaps, lips curling into a sneer. 

“I’ll say whatever I wanna say,” Josie declares, stomping her foot childishly as she folds her arms over her chest. 

Elizabeth huffs and the two stare each other down for a very, very long time. Hope wonders if they’re communicating telepathically or something. Can twins do that? 

“How is he different than this?” Josie asks, at last, just when Hope is seconds away from leaving. 

She would have brought the brunette with her, of course, it’s just that she’s tired and Josie doesn’t deserve to go through this. Hope already knows that whatever this is with Elizabeth will not end well. 

“I...” The blonde looks speechless, for once. She narrows her eyes, but not angrily, as if she’s just taking her time to think about her response. Ten seconds is all she needs. 

“He’s not different,” Elizabeth decides, voice low and clipped like she’s trying to convince herself but knows the words don’t quite sound right. “They’re all the same.” 

Hope’s breath hitches. Elizabeth glances over to her, as if she can read her mind, as if she can see right through her. 

“He broke my heart. It’ll only be a matter of time before she breaks yours.” 

Hope clenches a fist, her teeth doing the same. 

Josie shakes her head in denial. “You’re wrong.” 

Elizabeth’s lips thin into a straight line, and she steps back with a small, humorless laugh. The blonde turns around, calling behind her shoulder, “For your sake, I hope I am.” 

Josie startles forward, voice laced thinly with panic. “Where are you going?” 

Elizabeth freezes, just enough so that Hope can see the stiff muscles tensing in her back. She rolls her shoulders once, twice, but she doesn’t turn around when she whispers, “I’m sorry, Jo.” 

The muggleborn sucks in a breath. Both muggleborns do. Hope thinks she herself might not be breathing at all. 

“I can’t see you do this to yourself. I can’t stand by and watch as you destroy yourself.” 

She’s off before Hope can blink. For the second time, Josie calls her back, more desperately than the first. 

“Wait,” she says, eyes wide, chest visibly shaking. “You can’t tell anyone.” 

No answer. Josie tries again. “Lizzie, you can’t.” 

“Oh no,” Lizzie laughs, at last, something dark and ugly that sends chills down Hope’s spine. “I won’t. But don’t think for a second that your secret will stay as such. Because it _won’t_. I learned that the hard way.” 

And then she’s gone. 

Hope and Josie stay silent until the sound of the blonde’s retreating footsteps disappear completely. 

The pureblood attempts to reach out to Josie with her hand, but the other girl seems to dodge her. Hope frowns, feeling her stomach twist. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, trying to make out Josie’s expression in the darkness. They’re not as close to the torch on the wall as they had been before. 

Josie doesn’t say anything, just turning around to start the short trip back to their common room. Several times, Hope tries to grab the other girl’s hand to intertwine their fingers, but she somehow always misses and only grips cold air. Her fingertips begin to chill. 

At one point, she figures that maybe Josie is nowhere near her, and has slipped into the darkness like a shield, but she can still feel her close by. It’s unnerving, not being able to know if she’s okay or what she’s feeling.

She only has the dull thud of their footsteps for comfort. Hope wonders if she’s walking next to a ghost. It sure does feel like it, as if—

As if all of Josie has vanished in the face of her unaccepting sister. It makes Hope absolutely furious. Infinitely worried. She fears the coolness seeping into the fabric of her robes will never end. 

Well. If she hadn’t hated Elizabeth before, the feeling is only tenfold now. In due time, she’ll make sure the blonde pays for the pain she has wrought on her sister. In due time. 

“Josie?” Hope calls, as they round the hallway to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, for the sixth time since they had begun walking. “Is everything alright?” 

For the sixth time, Josie doesn’t respond. 

The torches near the common room are brighter than the ones in the third corridor, andnow Hope can clearly see the outline of Josie’s figure in the fire when she turns her head just right. 

She doesn’t hesitate before grabbing Josie’s wrist and roughly pulling the other girl to her own body, so that they’re hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Tell me you are unharmed,” she nearly growls, a single corner of her lip pulled into a snarl of frustration. 

Merlin, she just needs a fucking _answer_. 

In the seconds of silence that follow, Hope realizes that Josie is trembling in her hold. Trembling enough that their chests brush ever so slightly when the muggleborn inhales too deeply or not at all. 

If that’s not already bad, she’s also crying. Too quietly for Hope to hear a single sound, but the tears are _there_, the wet streaks flashing inbetween shadows and light whenever the torches on the walls catch the breeze just right. 

Hope tugs her closer and wraps her arms around Josie’s back without a second thought.She doesn’t let go, doesn’t even loosen her hold really, until the brunette stops shaking and gives into the hug. 

It’s supposed to be for Josie, but it’s a little for _Hope_, too. It’s a little for Hope when the muggleborn hides her face into the crook of her neck, a little for Hope when the warmth of another body settles against her own. 

Neither care that anyone could see them right now. Neither care that someone could step out of the common room this very instant, could witness Hope Mikaelson and Josie Saltzman hugging so openly. 

Neither care. 

“I-I’m o-okay,” Josie whispers shakily, an exhale of a pained breath, a weak smile on her lips as she lets go of Hope and moves away. Hope returns the smile, but hesitates to remove her hands from Josie all the same. 

After a short moment, she musters the strength to do so and steps back. She looks down, feeling shy for some reason, and mutters the password to the common room portrait. 

“Mikaelssson and Sssaltzman sssitting on a broom,” the snake hisses within the frame, mocking, “K-I-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S-S—“ 

Hope hurriedly shuts the door to block out the snake, which makes Josie giggle a little wetly. They’re both relieved to find that the common room is empty, with the embers from the fireplace dwindling down to soot. 

Hope walks Josie to her room—since chivalry is not dead—and almost leaves before the brunette stops her. 

“Can you stay?” she asks, a tad nervously, while looking down at the floorboards and not at Hope. 

The pureblood opens her mouth and closes it, not knowing if that’s a good idea. They have class early in the morning and Hope doesn’t know if she’ll be able to sneak out without anyone seeing her, or if she’ll even be able to summon the motivation to wake up. 

The moment Josie fixes her with her trademark pout and puppy eyes, Hope thinks that it’s a very, very good idea. Suddenly, she wants nothing more. 

“Sure,” Hope says, trying not to sound too eager. She takes a step back, eyes darting to the side. She bites down the smile rising at the corner of her lips. “Let me just change and I’ll be right back.” 

She doesn’t get to take another step away before Josie stops her again. “No, don’t leave!” she blurts, clamping a hand over her mouth a second later. 

Hope gets the idea that the other girl had not meant to say that. The pureblood raises her eyebrows, but chooses to listen and stay still. She watches as Josie drops her hand to her side and blushes. 

“You can borrow some of my pajamas. It’s easier that way, I mean,” she tells Hope, words a little rushed. 

Oh, yeah. That makes sense. 

Hope nods and lets Josie pull her inside her room by her arm, looking around despite the fact that she had been here the day before and the day before that. 

The only warning before the brunette all but lunges at Hope is the sound of the door clicking shut and then Josie’s lips are on hers. 

“Jo—_mhphm_.” 

Hope stumbles back and throws her hands out to rest on the muggleborn’s hips on instinct, trying desperately not to fall as Josie practically shoves her backwards and walks her over to the girl’s fucking bed. 

It’s sloppy. Messy. _Brutal_. Their teeth collide awkwardly, tongues brandished like weapons, fighting like wars. It’s not really much of a kiss, more just like Josie trying to dominate Hope or attack her, Hope doesn’t really know. 

The backs of her knees hit the mattress and she falls on top of it, with Josie landing right on top of her. She straddles Hope in a rush, hands snaking down her shoulders to shrug off Hope’s school robe. The grey vest and tie is next, and then she’s working on the buttons of Hope’s white-sleeve, fingers shaking and fumbling and clumsy—so, so clumsy. 

She seems to give up with the buttons pretty quickly because of that, instead choosing to almost violently untuck Hope’s shirt from her slacks and slip her hands underneath the hem, fingers drifting and grazing across Hope’s stomach, nails drawing red lines across her skin. 

Nothing about it is sweet or kind, and that gives Hope pause. It takes a moment for her foggy, lust-crazed mind to realize what’s happening. When it does, she gently pushes Josie away with a small whimper, struggling to pull air into her lungs. 

Kisses with Josie are _always_ sweet and kind. 

This is wrong. 

“J-Josie, we—we shouldn’t,” Hope breathes out, but Josie is relentless, dropping her wet lips down to her neck, suckling the skin of her pulse point, hands traveling up and down restlessly like she can’t quite decide where to leave them. Her lips are moving all over the place, too, everywhere and nowhere at once, before they seem to settle. 

“We should,” Josie disagrees, voice honeyed and low, teeth nipping at that one sensitive spot on Hope’s neck. She focuses on that area long enough for Hope to groan—long enough to let her head hit the sheets, to let Josie bite down, to let Josie pull away, to let Josie reconnect their lips, to let Josie deepen the kiss within seconds. 

Her hands somehow find Josie’s ass, and her fingers flex of their own accord, eliciting a breathy, little sound from the other girl’s lips against her own. 

“Oh, god, _Hope_—“ 

The sound of her name, spoken like that, moaned like that, makes Hope’s heart skip a beat, makes her head spin. 

Josie sits up, maybe to breathe, finally moving away instead of forward for the first time, and Hope’s eyes go wide with clarity. She pulls her hands back like a scolded child touching something she shouldn’t have been, crawling backwards on the bed and farther and farther away from Josie. 

Merlin. 

What are they doing? It’s _late_. Too late. 

This isn’t a good idea, especially with the brunette minutes away from having cried her eyes out. Hope needs to be the better person, even if she wants nothing more than to throw Josie against the bed and have her way with her. 

“You’re upset,” she murmurs, when the muggleborn tries to follow after Hope, shaking her head resolutely. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Let’s just go to bed.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Josie growls back, fingers flying down the buttons of her own shirt and throwing it somewhere behind her. Hope’s pupils dilate without her permission, lips parted with a slack jaw, face blood-red with a blush. 

It doesn’t help that Josie’s swollen lips are still glistening with their saliva, that her hair is beautifully mussed and—

This entire situation is fucking disgusting and filthy and Hope should be trying her hardest to get out of it. 

“No.” Hope shakes her head again, even as her eyes flutter shut with want. Josie comes even closer, perched up on her knees, and Hope places a hand on her stomach to stop her, desperately trying to resist the urge to pull her closer. “I don’t want you like this.” 

“That’s too bad. I _need_ you to love me,” Josie says, eyes darker than Hope has ever seen them. It almost scares her. Almost. “It’s not my fault that you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” 

Hope doesn’t understand what the brunette means, not right away. Later, it’ll make her knees weak, but for now, she only blinks in a daze, running her hand through her messy hair. “No. Let’s stop. I’m serious.” 

Silence. 

Hope almost regrets saying it, but she can’t. 

Someone needed to draw the line. Pity it had to be her. 

After a long moment, Josie nods and grows pink, turning her head over her shoulder. Hope imagines that she’s trying to hide the way her bottom lip quivers. 

“Listen, Jo.” She sits up, placing a soft kiss on the other girl’s lips that she doesn’t allow Josie to deepen. “Having sex isn’t going to make you feel better. Why don’t we just talk it out or something?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Josie whispers, rubbing at her puffy eyes. Hope knows that she does want to talk, just doesn’t know how to start. “I thought Lizzie would be happy for me. She wasn’t. That’s it.” 

Something painful snaps in Hope’s chest. She draws her eyebrows together sadly. 

She doesn’t want to defend Elizabeth, but she knows that the blonde is one of the most important people in Josie’s life, and she can’t stand between them. If the brunette ever starts to hate her sister, she’ll end up resenting Hope for it. 

And then no one will get what they want. 

“She just needs time,” the pureblood says, gently massaging Josie’s knuckles with her own fingers. She watches the other girl’s shoulders visibly relax.

Josie gets off the bed and walks across the door to her desk chair, which has the shirt she had thrown earlier haphazardly strewn over it. She grabs the shirt and moves towards her dresser. 

“I didn’t need time when she came out about dating Sebastian,” Josie mumbles, a little petulantly, her back still to Hope. The pureblood cocks her head to the side, trying to think of something to say to that. 

“Everyone’s different,” she decides on, sitting up near the edge of the bed. She looks away while Josie changes into her pajamas, smirking distantly as she thinks about it more. “It took me two months to even admit that I liked you, remember?” 

“I guess.” Josie giggles and sits down next to Hope, a bundle of brightly-colored clothes in her lap. She drops her chin to her chest, suddenly looking nervous. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. Hope licks her lips and glances up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Josie clarifies, “For...” 

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth as she tries to find the right words. They don’t come. “For jumping you like that.” 

Hope starts to laugh, but Josie bumps their shoulders together to get her to stop. 

“Stop,” she drags out the word, almost embarrassed. Hope quite likes the tinge of pink at the edges of her cheeks. A large part of her wants to kiss each one and whisper promises and proclamations of love, but that’d be a little _too_ much, she thinks. It’s not like she wants to scare Josie away. “Let me apologize.” 

Hope smirks, but motions for her to continue all the same. She shakes off her lovey-dovey thoughts. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Josie tells her. “I just needed to feel, I don’t know, loved?” 

Hope nods, placing her hand on top of Josie’s where it lies in her lap. She wants to tell Josie that it’s okay and that _she_ does love her, but she doesn’t know if something like that will be well-received after the last time she had blurted out her feelings. 

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Hope ends up saying, biting the inside of her cheek to stop something dangerous from coming out of her mouth. Josie hadn’t said that she loved Hope back after the last time, too. 

Maybe the pureblood is just overthinking things. 

“I think you need me to. _I_ need me to.” Josie’s fingers twitch underneath Hope’s. When she speaks, she sounds almost breathless. “I—I just feel so humiliated. I’ve been pressuring you to tell people about us when my own sister couldn’t even take the news.” 

A pause. 

“She, uh, really hurt me by walking away like that,” the muggleborn continues. “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about telling her—and all for _what_? A one-minute conversation where she couldn’t be bothered to even try to understand?” 

Josie scoffs a broken laugh. “She disappointed me, and I just wanted to feel wanted. Wanted by you. I’m...I’m _so_ sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Hope rushes to tell her. “I’m sorry if I don’t make you feel...” 

She blushes. Josie does, too. “Wanted.” 

She gulps messily. “I want you so bad—“ 

“Alright!” Josie chirps, standing up and blindly throwing the bundle of clothes she was holding before at Hope. It hits the pureblood in the face and drops down to her lap. 

“Those are your pajamas,” Josie mutters as she hurriedly disappears into her bathroom, “you’re welcome.” 

Oh. 

Hope hadn’t thought she was still staying over. Instead, she had come to think that Josie only wanted her to stay for sex. Maybe not. 

The pureblood frowns, looking down at the hot pink shirt in her lap and the yellow pair of shorts. Although the bathroom to the door is now shut, she calls out, “Do you have anything black?” 

No answer. 

“Or grey?” 

Again—no answer. 

“I’m not wearing these!” 

Nothing. 

Hope sighs and carefully places Josie’s clothes off to the side, rolling the long-sleeves of her white shirt up to her elbows and adjusting the collar around her neck. 

Yeah...

She’s definitely not wearing an outfit that gives her weird flashbacks to the time Elizabeth Saltzman kidnapped her from her own room and tied her to her own broom, so she’ll just have to make herself comfortable in her own clothes. 

Hearing the faucet running in the bathroom, Hope kicks off her shoes and leaves them by the end of the bed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it on the floor. 

She kneels in front of the pillow with her wand, and twirls it absentmindedly in her grip as she thinks about the spell she’s about to perform. 

The faucet stops running. The bathroom door swings open. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Josie says immediately when she sees her, in a deadpan. Hope glances up at her for just a second, before looking back down at the pillow. 

“Of course not.” She turns her head away to hide the smirk on her lips. “Sleeping on the floor is for house elves.” 

Josie gives her a dirty look, which makes Hope choke on her laughter. She rolls her eyes. 

“I’m joking, _obviously_.” The pureblood stands up, wand still in her hand. She twists her body to Josie, who has her arms crossed over her chest, looking decidedly unimpressed. Hope stifles another laugh. 

“I’m transfiguring your pillow into a mattress,” she explains. “What do you think, should I do a king or queen?” 

“Neither.” Josie swipes the pillow off the floor and hugs it across her chest. She smiles, just the barest hints of the corners of her lips rising. “We’re sharing mine.” 

“Oh?” Hope raises her eyebrows, a teasing smile on her own face. “Says the girl who kicked me out when I tried to take a nap Sunday.” 

“Only because you were being rude,” Josie dismisses easily. “Who takes a nap when they’re hanging out with their girlfriend?”

It’s the first time either of them have said it out loud. That word. Girlfriend. 

_Girlfriends_. 

Hope guesses that’s what they are now. She tries her hardest to suppress the smile on her own face, though she can’t quite help but be filled with a crazy sort of satisfaction at hearing Josie say it so openly. 

“I was tired,” Hope tells her, shrugging casually. She undos the first two buttons of her shirt, ignoring the way Josie’s eyes dip down for just a second. “A concussion will do that sometimes. You can’t fault me.” 

A glimmer of guilt flashes across the other girl’s face, but it’s gone by the time Hope blinks twice. She immediately regrets bringing it up. 

“Have you been taking the pills I gave you?” the muggleborn asks, stepping forward and dropping the pillow back onto her bed. She reaches out with her hand, the tips of her fingers skimming across Hope’s head in search of that tell-tale bump. 

She doesn’t seem to find it. 

“Yeah,” Hope says. Her eyes flutter shut instantly, unable to hold out against the feeling of Josie touching her like this. The sensation is almost overwhelming. Hope chokes on a moan, murmuring softly, “The swelling went down like you said it would.” 

“And the pain?” 

Josie removes her hand, causing Hope to blink open her eyes slowly. She lets out a quiet sigh of disappointment. The other girl doesn’t seem to notice. 

“None.” 

“Good.” Josie sits down on the bed and makes room for Hope, lifting her legs to move them underneath the sheets. “You should stop taking them if you’re feeling better, then.” 

A little awkwardly, Hope nods and slides in next to the brunette, placing her wand on the bedside table. 

She doesn’t really know what to do with herself. 

It’s not the first time she’s been here, of course, but it’s the first time she’s sleeping over. 

And she’s fucking freaking out. 

What if she makes a wrong move and Josie thinks that she’s a pervert? What if she accidentally snores or something? What if she drools all over Josie’s pillows? 

Then again, they’ve cuddled together on this very bed before, so the pureblood hopes this isn’t as big a deal as she thinks it is. 

Whatever. 

She has good reason to be nervous. 

Right? 

Hope makes a weird noise at the back of her throat, feeling something digging into her back. She props herself on an elbow and uses her free hand to grab the offending object, which turns out to be...

A panda stuffed animal? 

Um. 

What the fuck? 

Hope had thought it to be a dagger or sword with how sharply the thing had been poking against her skin. 

“You have...stuffed animals,” Hope observes, pulling out another one beneath the sheets. It’s a grey whale. 

“Yeah,” Josie giggles, taking the whale and practically making love to it with her eyes. Hope scowls, jealous for some odd reason. “So cute, right?” 

Hope plasters on a fake smile and nods excitedly. 

“Hold on.” The muggleborn pauses, throwing her arms underneath the sheets and wrestling violently with something. Hope’s eyes go wide as she watches. 

“This one’s my favorite,” Josie tells her, finally pulling out a fluffy, white wolf. Hmm. Maybe that was the weird thing that had been brushing against Hope’s foot. 

“Nice.” 

Hope eyes the wolf nervously, its beady, black eyes staring back at her all the same. She swallows hard and quickly waves her hand to turn off the lights. 

The room plunges into darkness. 

Thank Merlin. 

At least now she can’t see the stuffed animals. 

Hope rolls over on her side, ready to pull Josie flush against her body and snuggle into her for comfort, but the muggleborn seems to have other plans. 

She drags her unclothed leg down Hope’s decidedly clothed one, rubbing against her feet. Hope huffs when Josie seems to accidentally kick her. 

“Wait,” the brunette says, in a hushed whisper. At the same time, in one swift move, she pulls all the sheets off of Hope and onto herself. Hope doesn’t think the other girl even realizes that she’s done it. “Are you wearing socks?” 

Hope has to think about her response. She finds herself double-checking. 

“I think so. Why?” The pureblood rubs her neck nervously, which stings a little underneath her touch. Great. That means she’ll have to cover up whatever hickies Josie left for her tomorrow morning. 

“I just realized that I know next to nothing about you.” Josie shifts and turns over, so that she’s facing the opposite wall. She lowers her voice, sounding equal parts scandalized and horrified, “You wear socks to sleep? Oh, god. I’m in bed with a stranger.” 

Hope chuckles and sneaks up behind Josie, close enough to throw an arm around her waist and pull her against her own body like she had originally planned. 

Josie doesn’t struggle, just lets herself be pulled with a contented sigh. Searching for heat, Hope slides her fingers underneath the girl’s top. She finds soft, warm skin waiting for her and sighs contently herself. 

The feeling is all-too short-lived. 

Josie jumps up almost the second Hope lays a finger on her, batting her hand away. “You’re _freezing_,” she hisses. 

“Am I?” 

Just to mess with her, Hope slips her other hand up Josie’s back and dances her chilled fingers across her spine. Josie recoils away from her desperately. 

“Hope!” The other girl even tries to form some kind of shield with the bed cover, but her voice is breaking out in laughter. “I’m serious! Your hands are so cold.” 

Despite her best efforts, Josie isn’t quite strong enough to discourage Hope from this position. The pureblood only tightens her hold on her and leans up to whisper in her ear, a playful lilt to her tone, “It’s ‘cause you’re hogging all the blankets.” 

Josie giggles and redoubles her efforts to get away, which has Hope planting soft kisses on the skin of her neck that she can access. 

“Even your lips are cold!” Josie squeaks, like an accusation, but Hope notices that she’s leaning into the pureblood instead of away now. In fact, she goes unnaturally still as Hope’s mouth attaches itself to her pulse point—long enough that Hope can feel it pounding against her lips. 

“Keep me warm, then,” she husks, eyes smoldering even though Josie probably can’t see them in the dark. 

The other girl finally turns around and blindly darts her lips out towards Hope’s own. Hope meets her halfway with a hand on the side of her neck, smiling into the kiss. 

The brunette pulls away within seconds. She shakes her head. 

“You’re just trying to distract me,” Josie whispers softly, breath puffing against Hope’s lips. Hope can still taste the mint of her toothpaste. 

“From what?” she asks, feeling distracted herself. She wants another taste of mint. Suddenly, she can’t get enough. 

“From what I said earlier.” Josie seems to sober up. Although her words are gentle, they seem far too serious for Hope to know what to do with them. “That I don’t know anything about you.” 

Something darkens in the pureblood’s eyes, like a storm brewing in her irises. She leans away and knits her eyebrows together. 

“Don’t be silly,” Hope dismisses, rolling over on her back. Josie follows, holding herself up with her arm bent at a weird angle. 

“I’m not,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I don’t know your favorite color or your favorite food. I know nothing about your childhood. And you don’t have to tell me, of course, but I want to know you.” 

Hope nods and chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully, much too aware of Josie watching her in the dark. 

“I don’t like talking about my childhood,” she admits, voice suddenly quiet and unsure. Seeing disappointment flicker across Josie’s face, she offers, “But my favorite color is red.” 

A beat passes. 

“A Slytherin’s favorite color being red?” Josie gasps dramatically and starts to giggle like some common schoolgirl. 

The pureblood pouts. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you anything.” 

“Oh, calm down,” Josie tells her, still laughing. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Hope laughs, too. 

“Okay, what’s your favorite candy?” Josie continues, something determined in her eyes. Hope doesn’t like it at all. 

In fact, she isn’t finding this very fair. Or even. 

“I think it’s my turn,” Hope says. She thinks she can see Josie rolling her eyes, but she’s not sure. “What’s _your_ favorite candy?” 

“You stole my question.” Josie scowls, her pouty lips doing nothing to intimidate Hope. She simply grins and says nothing, only waiting for the muggleborn to answer the question. 

“Fine,” Josie relents, scrunching up her face as she thinks about it. “Hershey’s kisses.” 

Hope scrunches up her own face in confusion. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard of that kind of candy before. 

Oh. Maybe Josie’s flirting with her and wants to kiss again? Hmm. That seems like a plausible explanation. 

Yes. Hope is certain now. Hershey is definitely just Josie’s new nickname for her or something. H-Hope. H-Hershey. She can kind of see it. 

Pleased, Hope smiles and leans forward to connect their lips again, but Josie stops her. 

“No.” She laughs, which has Hope’s smile dropping slightly. “It’s a muggle American candy,” the other girl explains. 

Hope blushes dark red, but she’s confident that Josie can’t see it. 

“Oh,” she breathes. And then—

“So no kisses?” 

Josie shuts her up with a pair of lips on her own a second later. 

The two spend the rest of the night asking each other about inconsequential, light-hearted topics, like favorite things and funny stories. 

Hope learns that Josie’s favorite book is The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but that she hasn’t been able to read it for a while since she lost her copy at Beauxbatons and hasn’t been able to find another one since. She learns that Josie’s official favorite color is yellow but she likes pink, too. Her favorite magical candies are sugar quills, but she has an affinity for dark chocolate frogs as well. Her favorite ice cream flavor is Strawberry and Peanut Butter, particularly the one Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour sells at Diagon Alley. 

Hope gags in disgust but confesses that she adores the Granny Smith ice cream flavor herself, which has Josie calling her a hypocrite since “green ice cream is Satan’s gift to earth.”Well. Wait until she hears about how much Hope likes pistachio. 

This begins a discussion of Josie explaining who Satan is, which begins a discussion of her finally explaining who God is. 

Hope also learns that Josie grew up in the Americas, so that’s why she doesn’t have a French accent. The muggleborn tells Hope all about her little home town in the United States, while Hope tells her all about the gardens back at the Mikaelson Manor. 

Josie is a great listener, but curious, so curious. Yet, she always waits until Hope is finished speaking to ask her questions. She never grows impatient or bored, never becomes irritated when the pureblood avoids some questions and just doesn’t answer others completely. 

Hope falls asleep like that, with Josie curled into her and whispering childhood stories inbetween yawns and heavy-lidded eyes—childhood stories that sound too much like her mother’s old lullabies, and yet, not enough at all. 

—

With Wednesday comes the first day of December, which also brings with it the Christmas spirit at Hogwarts.

When Hope walks into the great hall first thing in the morning, she finds it decorated with all kinds of shades of elegant whites, merry greens, soft reds and golds. 

From the ceiling, Christmas trees are even suspended in mid-air, decorated with tacky-looking tinsel and ribbons, covered in white by falling snowflakes. Every single one dissolves before it can hit the tables below. 

Hope counts thirty-two before she grows bored and stops. 

The tables themselves are filled with ornaments and sprigs of plants that fit the table’s house colors. The pureblood herself is sitting in front of a silver ornament that depicts some sort of animal, but Ethan accidentally smashes it with his plate before she can figure out what. 

“Oh, shit.” Ethan pinks. “Sorry.” 

Hope stares forlornly at the broken ornament, having been a second away from becoming attached to it. She was pretty sure it had been a dragon ornament. 

“Why’re you apologizing?” 

Just then, Maya sits down at the table, hair messy, book bag nearly falling off her shoulder. Hope looks her up and down and arches a single eyebrow. 

The girl looks like shit. It’s makes sense, though. She had only left the hospital wing the night before. 

“I broke that,” Ethan says in response, pointing at the destroyed ornament. Hope sips at her pumpkin juice and doesn’t say anything. 

“Are you a wizard or not?” Rose perks up from across Hope. It seems that she had been content to not say anything until now, too. 

“Right!” Ethan laughs a little nervously before pulling out his wand, whispering, “Reparo.” 

The ornament fixes itself, piece by piece. Ethan watches for Rose’s reaction, as if wanting to impress her, while Hope watches for the ornament to see what kind of animal it is:

A cat. 

Oh.

Hope looks away, now disinterested. She searches the Gryffindor table briefly, but also loses interest in that when she notices Josie isn’t sitting there. 

Turning her head to the Ravenclaw table, Hope notices that the muggleborn isn’t sitting there, either. 

Maybe she’s sleeping in? 

The girl had still been asleep when Hope had left her room, but that had been pretty early in the morning considering that the pureblood had needed to sneak out before anyone could see her. 

The walk of shame back to her common room had been far too nerve-wracking. 

“Where’s Park?” Hope asks, upon inspecting her own table. Hmm. Penelope never misses breakfast. 

Hope really doesn’t care, though. Nope. She doesn’t care about Penelope _one_ bit. She’s just curious. 

Nevermind that she and Penelope have been friends for years and Penelope betrayed her by staking some kind of claim on Josie. 

Nevermind that she and Penelope have gotten into more fights in the past two months than in the past two years. Nevermind it all. They’ll get over this little bump in the road like how they always do—by never bringing it up for so long that the two just end up forgetting about it.

“Wouldn’t get out of bed,” Rose tells her, almost nonchalantly, ripping the crust off of her toast and making a large pile with it on her plate. “Upset about Saltzman being taken or something.” 

Hope’s heart stops dead in her chest. She darts her eyes around in a panic, wide and alarmed, but no one seems to be listening. 

“What do you mean?” Hope lowers her voice to a hiss. She cocks her head to the side pointedly, as if to indicate her and Josie’s secret relationship. “She _knows_?” 

Rose rolls her eyes. Hope’s shoulders relax. “Of course not. I was referring to the fact that Raichter asked Saltzman out to to the ball.” 

Hope breathes a sigh of relief, picking up her cup of pumpkin juice again. It slides down her throat with ease, before she suddenly pauses and puts the cup back down. “Wait. Why is she upset now? That rumor’s been out since Sunday.” 

“Rumor?” Rose smirks. Hope knows that it’s not a rumor, but it makes her feel better to think that Josie is not truly going to the ball with Raichter and that it’s all just gossip. 

She makes a small humming noise at the back of her throat. 

“Mhmm.” Hope takes another sullen sip of her pumpkin juice. Too much pumpkin juice. She kind of has to use the bathroom now. 

“Yeah, well,” Rose continues, “she didn’t believe it until yesterday. Pen told me that she confronted the poor girl after class and Raichter personally confirmed it.” 

“Oh.” Hope forces herself to appear indifferent. She pours about two gallons worth of cranberry syrup on her pancakes, expression carefully blank. “Well, Park can go _crucio_ herself for all I care.” 

“Hope,” Rose scolds. She frowns, looking disappointed. “You don’t mean that.” 

The pureblood makes no comment. 

“What is up with you and her anyway?” the other girl asks. 

Hope honestly doesn’t know. They had been fine after Penelope apologized for starting the fight in the common room a few weeks ago, but lately things between them have been tense. 

Especially since Penelope had thrown a temper tantrum out on the pitch when she thought Hope was taking Josie to the ball. 

What does that mean? Does it mean Penelope has some weird, twisted crush on Josie, or does it mean that she’s just sour that someone else gets to take Slytherin’s most eligible bachelorette to the ball? 

Hope doesn’t know, and she doesn’t think that Penelope will ever mention it again. At least, none of their other friends have. It’s a silent agreement among all of them that they never _will_. 

“You seemed just fine yesterday,” Rose adds, when Hope has taken too long to respond, obviously trying to get a reaction out of the pureblood. 

_ That was before I found out she was mourning her non-existent love-life with my girlfriend.  _

“What changed?” 

“Nothing.” Hope looks around, desperate for a change of subject. She curls her lip in disgust, saying, “What is up with all these asinine decorations? Christmas isn’t for weeks.” 

Rose lets the obvious distraction slide. She smiles wide, cooing, “Aww, H, don’t be such a grinch.” 

Hope scrunches up her face. “I think you mean a grouch.” 

“No.” Rose pinks, but she looks excited to explain herself all the same. Proud. “Grinch. It’s a muggle thing.” 

Hope darts her eyes around, if only to check that their friends still aren’t listening in. They aren’t. “What kind of muggle thing?” 

Merlin. She sounds way too eager even to her own ears. 

“The grinch is a character in a book,” Rose whispers, but not suspiciously enough that someone can get wary and tune in. “Though, I think it might be a movie, too.” 

“A smoothie?” 

“No. A movie. It’s like a photograph but longer,” Rose explains. Hope nods, struggling to keep up with the information. “In the story, this ugly green troll—the grinch—absolutely hates Christmas, so he sneaks into a town called...”

She trails off, looking uncertain for the first time. It passed a second later. “Why-ville, I think, and steals everyone’s presents and food.” 

Hope nods again, a silent inquiry to continue. “But the muggles don’t care that all their things are gone, and find the Christmas spirit in each other or something equally sickening. The grinch ends up feeling bad and brings back all their stuff, and by the end of the story, his heart grows, like, three sizes.” 

Rose even gestures with her hands to show how big. 

Hope leans forward and grins, pancakes forgotten. “So basically you’re saying that I’m a kind-hearted person?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Rose tilts her head in contemplation. “I guess.” 

Hope grins wider. 

“Anyways,” the halfblood moves on, glancing somewhere over Hope’s right shoulder. “How are you and...?” 

She trails off pointedly, nodding her head in that same direction. 

Hope turns around, instantly finding Josie, who is sitting with her friend Anna at the Ravenclaw table where she hadn’t been before. 

The two are whispering to each other a little bit like Hope and Rose, but they stop when Josie catches the pureblood’s eye and smiles hesitantly. Hope returns it with a small one of her own and nods in acknowledgment, almost imperceptibly. 

The two hold each other’s gazes for a long moment, until Anna ruins it by prodding Josie with the end of the spoon in her hand. The muggleborn looks away. 

With a deep sigh, Hope turns back around to Rose, neck muscles and joints tensing from the odd angle. She stretches them out with a satisfying crack. “Fuck. Can we switch seats?” 

Rose raises an eyebrow. “So you can stare at her and get you both caught? I don’t think so.” 

The tips of Hope’s ears burn. She hopes it’s not noticeable. 

“Whatever.” She huffs, glancing at her soggy pancakes. She’s ignored them long enough that the mere sight of them causes bile to rise in her throat. “I just wanted to make sure that she’s okay. Her sister didn’t take the news so well when we told her that we’re, you know, together.” 

“Really?” Rose straightens up suspiciously quickly at the mention of Elizabeth. Hope doesn’t notice. The halfblood chews on her bottom lip. “Are you scared she’s going to say something?”

Hope forces a bite of pancake in her mouth as she weighs the question over. “I don’t know,” she says. “They’re twins. There has to be some sort of code, right?” 

Rose shrugs, dropping her eyes to her stack of toast crust. 

“If anything,” Hope adds, “I can just threaten her—“ 

“_No_,” Rose cuts her off sharply, teeth clenched. How peculiar. Hope shoots her a curious look. “I...you can’t do that. Let me take care of it, okay?” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek, taking the moment to look at Rose—to really look at her. For once in her life, Rose Nicot is completely unreadable. 

“Okay.” 

—

“Today, as many of you might be able to guess by taking a look at the board, we will be brewing Amortentia,” Slughorn says, starting the Double Potions lesson with a nervous smile as he looks at all his students. Hope glances at the black board for just a second. “Please follow all the instructions listed in the appropriate manner. While some of the ingredients used are arguably quite common, there are others that can be very hard to obtain, such as moonstones. Do not waste them. If you are unsure about anything, you may reference your textbooks. One wrong ingredient or stir counterclockwise can turn Amortentia into a lust or envy potion within seconds.” 

Half the room swallows thickly. Slughorn seems to enjoy it. 

“Can anyone tell me how one might consider their potion a success?” he asks, causing Josie’s hand to bolt up. Hope raises her hand a lot more casually, grinning when Slughorn picks on her instead. 

Josie sends the pureblood a nasty look. She just continues to smirk. 

“It should take on a mother-of-pearl sheen if it’s brewed correctly. That’s how you know it’s finished,” Hope says, a little cockily, but Slughorn doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Great! Five points to Slytherin,” he praises, before letting his class start to work. The room dissolves into quiet conversations and whispers. 

“That’s not fair.” Josie pouts. “I raised my hand first.” 

Hope shrugs, glancing down to the fullness of the other girl’s bottom lip. She forces herself to tear her gaze away. “No one likes a know-it-all.” 

“Yeah, well, no one likes a...” Josie opens her mouth and closes it, unable to think of a clever retort. She finishes lamely, lowering the heat underneath their cauldron of water, “...narcissist.” 

“Hmm,” Hope hums over her textbook, dropping an ashwinder egg into the water. The shell dissolves the second it hits the surface. The pureblood drawls lazily, “Speaking of narcissists, have you talked to your sister?” 

Josie shoots her head up. She discreetly looks around before whispering, “We’re in public.” 

Hope rolls her eyes, grabbing two handfuls of rose thorns. They dig uncomfortably into the palm of her hand, not quite piercing the skin but too close for comfort. “Well, have you?” 

She lifts the rose thorns up to the cauldron, but Josie stops her. 

The muggleborn places a delicate hand on the fabric of her wrist, before recoiling as if burned. Maybe she forgot that they’re in public, too. Josie seems to draw in on herself, sending Hope an apologetic look. “Sorry. But the book says one handful, not two.” 

Hope nods and lowers her hand. 

“And Lizzie’s been avoiding me. I had to sit at the Ravenclaw table this morning,” Josie tells her, more timid and quiet than Hope has ever seen her before. 

She silently uncorks the small bottle of peppermint oil on their table, eyes suspiciously wet. Hope swallows, trying to search for something to make her feel better without revealing their relationship to the whole class. 

She aimlessly crushes the peppermint blossom flowers with her mortar and pestle as she thinks of ideas. She can’t very well kiss the other girl or comfort her with a hug in front of everyone. 

Maybe she should tell Josie a compliment? Yes. Perhaps a compliment might make her smile. 

“You’re...” Hope starts, mind blanking. Does she say pretty? Beautiful? Merlin, Josie should already know that. She needs something more...personality-wise. 

Hmm. Josie’s kind. Compassionate. Has a big heart. Some might say a heart three times the size of others. 

Suddenly, an idea flickers in the pureblood’s head.

“You’re a grinch,” she finishes and smiles, satisfied, happy with herself. 

Josie just looks at her like she’s crazy, but Hope doesn’t notice.  


She’s such a good girlfriend. 

The two continue working on the potion for the next hour or so, dividing the steps up evenly and without much arguing, keeping flirting to a minimum the best they can. 

Around them, the natural scent of Amortentia starts to spread across the room from table to table. Hope doesn’t even bat any eyelash when she gets a full whiff of chocolate frogs and Josie’s subtle perfume. 

She wonders, briefly, if Josie can smell Hope in the potion like Hope can smell her. 

Still, she can’t quite help the deep inhale she takes, or the secret smile that graces her lips, reflected on Josie’s own. 

It slips off her face not a second later when the door to the classroom swings open, Penelope Park strutting inside like she isn’t an hour late to the lesson. 

Everyone looks at her as she walks in, including Hope. She watches as Penelope seems to sniff the air and pauses almost imperceptibly, her nose wrinkling in careful distaste. The girl’s eyes fall on Josie. 

She then pulls her lips into a small sneer as she walks by Hope’s desk in order to get to her own, remarking snidely, “Someone overdid it with the perfume. I can hardly breathe in here. Trying to impress someone, are we, Saltzman?” 

Hope freezes like stone. The rest of the class does the same, everyone seeming to collectively take in a sharp breath. All eyes go to Josie, who is blushing profusely. 

Professor Slughorn breaks the silence. 

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss Park,” he says, eyes glinting happily. 

Wait for it.

“You’re precisely an hour late, so you can join me for _precisely an hour_ in detention tonight. Now, please kindly take your seat.” 

Wait for it. 

“By looking into your cauldron,” he adds, a little slyly, “you’ll find that we are currently brewing Amortentia.” 

Penelope visibly tenses. Her throat bobs enough for half the class to see it and the other half to hear it. She stands, stricken to her spot by Merlin himself, eyes unblinking, unseeing. 

On the other side of the room, a Ravenclaw accidentally drops two handfuls of rose thorns into their cauldron. Their gasp goes unheard. 

Hope thinks she might throw up. Or pee her pants. 

She suddenly stands up. She blurts out, face pale, nearly fucking green, “May I use the bathroom?” 

—

Hope runs her shaky hands through her long hair, standing in front of the mirror. She vaguely notes that it’s tangled. She probably should have brushed it better earlier. 

Obviously, that doesn’t matter much now. 

It’s been about five minutes since she got here. _Here_ being the bathroom. 

Asking Professor Slughorn for permission to leave had not been a complete excuse. She actually _did_ have to use the bathroom, if the amount of pumpkin juice she had drank during breakfast counts for anything. 

If anything counts anymore, that is. 

Merlin.

She’s nearly boiling with anger. Positively steaming. How dare Penelope embarrass her like that in front of everyone. How dare she. 

How dare she so obviously have feelings for Josie. Josie is not fucking Penelope’s. Penelope doesn’t get to have feelings for her. She doesn’t get to be attracted to her enough to smell her in a love potion. Penelope doesn’t deserve that. 

Yet.

Does Hope?

“Hope?” A knock, a voice at the door. Familiar. Merlin. So familiar. “Can I come in?” 

Right. The pureblood had locked the door. Silly her. 

Hope doesn’t turn around, only tucking her wand out of her pocket and pointing it lazily behind her. She unlocks the door with a quiet murmur and puts her wand away again, still facing the mirror. Her hands grip the edges of the sink, willing the material to crack underneath her fingers. It doesn’t. 

She only moves when two hands snake around her waist, a soft chin slotting over her shoulder. She sighs and closes her eyes, disappointed at herself for being so angry with Penelope, and to a certain extent, Josie.

Had Josie enabled Penelope’s feelings? She wonders. Had she been leading Hope on all this time? The both of them? 

Of course not. 

“That didn’t mean anything,” Josie whispers, her cheek pressing against Hope’s, the words soft and reassuring, but there is something else there, something else like she doesn’t quite believe it herself. 

“She practically confessed her love for you,” Hope says, an embittered laugh cutting like glass at the back of her throat. Josie’s hold on her becomes even tighter. “How does that not mean anything?” 

“Because I don’t have any feelings for her,” the muggleborn tells her easily, without a second’s thought or hesitation. 

It should comfort Hope, it should make her feel better, it should warm her heart, but instead she just feels jealous and insecure. 

“I bet,” she scoffs out, but melts into Josie’s arms all the same. If only her mind and heart could agree on something for once in her damn life. 

“Fine.” Josie releases her, quickly enough that Hope turns around on the spot. Her hand clutches at the other girl’s hip to keep her close, not willing to allow for any space at all. “How can I convince you?” 

“What do you smell?” Hope asks, too suddenly, too desperately to be casual. She adds, words still rushed and eager, “In the Amortentia, I mean.” 

“Hope.” Josie frowns, not looking happy with the question, looking much less happy with answering it. Something thick snaps painfully in the pureblood’s chest. 

“Forget it.” She shakes her head, dropping her hand from Josie’s hip and stepping towards the door. She’s so stupid. So fucking _stupid_. 

Josie moves in front of her to block her path, a hand on her chest, right over Hope’s wanton heart. She briefly imagines that Josie can feel it shaking beneath her fingers. 

“Do you really have so little trust in me?” the muggleborn asks, eyes narrowed and sad, brows furrowed and intense. 

Hope shakes her head vehemently. “Of course not. I just don’t trust _her_.” 

She can’t quite help hissing the word out, like poison at the tip of her tongue. Her lips sting in agony. 

“Firewhiskey,” Josie blurts, out of nowhere. She isn’t looking at Hope, not really, but somewhere past her, as if reliving a memory or trying to. “Wet grass, fresh ink, and pancakes...I think.”

A lump forms hot and thick in Hope’s throat. She blinks, confused, but Josie is quick to explain. 

“That’s what I smell,” she tells Hope, eyes so clear and sincere that the pureblood has no choice but to believe her. “_You_. It’s what I smelled a few weeks ago, too. I tried to tell you then, but I lost my nerve when you said that you were going to ask Clara out.” 

Fuck. Hope nearly slaps herself. She can remember that day clearly now, can remember Maya interrupting their conversation in Defense with gossip about how much Clara was in love with Hope and how all Hope needed to do was seal the deal. 

How foolish she had been then. How foolish she is _now_. It all still nauseates her to this very moment, and it makes her all the more nauseous that Josie can even remember it, too. 

“I’m sorry for putting you through that,” she apologizes right away, but it doesn’t feel enough. 

How can she even begin to apologize for everything she’s done? It seems as though she asks herself this question everyday. 

“It’s okay,” Josie says. It’s not. Her fingers find Hope’s own, interlocking them at the knuckles. “Just let me know before you go asking people out this time around, okay?” 

Hope swallows hard. “About that...” 

Josie visibly deflates. 

“No, no, it’s nothing bad,” she tries, but they both know where this is going. “It’s just, uh, Roman Sienna asked me out Monday, and I thought I might say yes, considering Raichter is taking you...” 

“Roman?” Josie narrows her eyes as she tries to think about who Hope might be referring to.

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers, realization dawning on her. She seems to come to her senses a second later, and shakes her head. 

“No.” 

No? That’s not what Hope had been expecting. 

“Um.” Hope fidgets, stroking the space between Josie’s forefinger and thumb with her middle finger. “Why not?” 

“He has hair like Goldilocks,” Josie answers simply, shrugging. “I can’t compete with him.” 

“Goldi-who?” 

Josie ignores her. “Besides, his mother is a pureblood supremacist who has a muggle fetish.” 

“Exactly.” Hope smirks something triumphant. “Which means his father is a _muggle—“ _

She waggles her eyebrows.  


“—So it all works out.” 

“I said no. You can do better.” 

“Fine.” 

—

After DADA, Professor Snape calls Hope to stay for a couple of minutes after class. 

She exchanges a slightly panicked look with Josie before the bell rings, cursing inwardly as the other girl leaves so quickly that she’s the first one out the door. 

Of course. 

Hope sighs as she watches the back of Josie’s head disappear out of the classroom. Why else would Snape want to talk to her other than to bust her for going through his desk a week ago? 

What she doesn’t get is the _timing_. 

Why would the man bring it up now when he could have done so days ago? Hmm. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed that she had stolen part of the prophecy until now? 

Shit. The _prophecy_. 

Somehow, through all the drama with Josie and studying for her finals before winter break, she had come to forget about it. 

“Miss Mikaelson, I hope your afternoon is going well,” Snape starts, tone deceptively casual. Hope sees through the niceties right away. 

“It is. Thank you, sir,” she says, eyes narrowing. 

The man nods with a small hum and clasps his fingers together. He rounds the corner of his desk, leaning his back against the edge of it. 

“Do you take me for a fool?” he snaps, suddenly, _so_ suddenly that it surprises the pureblood. She tries desperately not to show it. 

Hope doesn’t blink, choosing not to give him a reaction other than just crossing her arms. “Excuse me, sir?” 

Snape doesn’t blink, either. “Remind me, Miss Mikaelson, how long has it been since you served a detention in my classroom?” 

Hope wonders what that has to do with anything. She pauses, if only to collect her thoughts. 

“About a week.” 

“So,” Snape says, “would you say that I have been rather generous, as to provide you with so much time to turn yourself in, after the crime you have committed against me?” 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what crime you’re referring to, sir,” Hope tells him, always polite. She hopes her face isn’t as red as she thinks it is right now. Seriously, her skin feels like it’s on fire or something. 

Professor Snape all but glaring at her doesn’t help much. 

“Allow me to help you remember,” he clips dangerously, a slight sneer rising the left corner of his lips. “Some time after your last detention, I realized that my desk was quite disorganized, yet I could recall no such memory of _disorganizing_ it. This led me to the conclusion that you and Miss Saltzman took advantage of my not being present and decided to root through my possessions like a pair of common street rats.” 

Fuck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hope shrugs. “I doubt Saltzman does, either.” 

Feeling petty, she adds, in a false tone of concern, “Are you feeling unwell, professor? I’m sure Madame Pomfrey could help. Would you like me to escort you to the hospital wing?” 

Snape scowls, looking deeply into her eyes. She wavers not. The two stand there, for about a minute, just staring at each other, taking each other in. 

Hope sets her jaw, straightens her back, pleads with her body to cooperate and not betray her. 

Another minute passes before she feels it—

Before she feels the slight push against the walls of her mind, another presence within her thoughts. She nearly growls when she realizes that Snape is using Legilimency against her. 

Mind going carefully blank, she pushes against him, closes around his consciousness inside her own, before coming to another revelation. 

If she tries to hide from the man, it will only make him more suspicious of her. _He_ was the one that had taught her Occlumency in the first place, after all.

Whatever. Two can play this game. 

Resisting the smirk pulling at her own lips, Hope allows her thoughts to wander into the gutter, knowing that Snape is attempting to read them. 

_ A small hand on her thigh, another clawing into her hair, sharp nails digging into her scalp, skin on skin, glistening with sweat, pouty lips parted into an O, a scrape of teeth along a tanned neck, gasping, moaning into Hope’s ear, a perfect body writhing underneath her own... _

Snape furrows his eyebrows in confusion, cocking his head to the side and taking his eyes off her own in order to make sense of the images and thoughts. 

With a start, he shakes his head and grimaces, skin unnaturally pale. 

“Okay!” The professor coughs or chokes, Hope can’t tell. He waves his hand in dismissal, ushering her out of the door. “I believe you. You may go. Quickly, now.” 

Hope waits until the classroom door slams behind her to laugh. Snape does the same, the only difference being that he waits not to laugh, but to throw up all over his precious desk instead. 

—

“She wouldn’t admit to going through my desk, but you’re right, Irma, the evidence is there,” Snape says solemnly, a couple of hours after recovering from his bout of sickness. At least he can no longer taste the sting of bile at the back of his throat. “I told her that none of my things were as I left them, and Miss Mikaelson denied any involvement. She lied straight to my face. I’m sure of it.” 

The professors around him take a second to digest the information. 

Headmaster Dumbledore speaks up first, smiling strangely. When he speaks, his voice is almost teasing. “Only _sure_? Did you perform Legilimens on the girl or not, Severus?” 

“I did,” he grumbles, face taking on an unhealthy purple hue. Dumbledore arches a white, bushy eyebrow. “But you know just as well as I do that Hope Mikaelson is as skilled an Occlumens as her father. She was able to hide it from me.” 

“No, actually,” he corrects himself, a deep frown on his face. His belly stirs uncomfortably. “Not just _hide_ it. Instead, she masked her thoughts by fantasizing about intimate fornication just to mock me.” 

Professor Vector sniggers somewhere distantly. Professor McGonagall bends forward as if faint, only saved from falling over by another teacher’s helping hand on her arm. 

“I’m certain that was not her intention,” Dumbledore tries to soothe him, but his eyes sparkle in amusement. “The teenage mind is quite a curious, inventive place. You cannot blame a child for that. Perhaps Miss Mikaelson is not as deceitful as we may think.” 

“She’s a bloody scoundrel!” 

“We can blame her all we would like!” 

“Not deceitful? Are you blind?” 

“Okay, enough of that,” Dumbledore cuts off his staff, putting up a hand to silence them. The disgruntled professors listen. “If the girls _do_ prove to be suspicious, it might allow them some good. Merlin knows they need all the help that they can get. If that is all...” 

He turns his attention to Professor Vector and McGonagall. “How are the preparations with the ball? I presume Miss Saltzman and Miss Mikaelson are going together?” 

Vector draws her eyes together sadly and shakes her head. “You would presume wrong. Miss Saltzman is going with Madeline Raichter.” 

She lets out a deep sigh. “This isn’t working out at all. Maybe we should just cancel it, Albus?” 

He waves her off. “Don’t be silly, it’s much too late for that—“

“Don’t be silly?” Vector cuts in. “Do not fool yourself naive, Albus. What were we thinking in the first place?” 

She laughs humorlessly. It rings in the air like jagged knives. “Inviting families such as the Clarkes and Mikaelsons?” 

Professor Flitwick squeaks at the obvious call-out. Vector only continues, “One must lay inquiry to your sanity.” 

“My sanity is not a question,” Dumbledore tells the woman, looking more serious than anyone has ever seen him before. “We do this, we bring forth opportunity.” 

“Opportunity?” Another sharp laugh. McGonagall cringes. “All I can see is blatant stupidity. How can we welcome notoriously-dark families into our castle on good conscious?” 

Dumbledore opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He seems shocked that one of his own would even stand against him. Snape speaks up. 

“Frankly, I agree,” he says. Vector scoffs. She has never trusted a man like Severus Snape, especially not to side with her. Not since he befriended the Mikaelsons. Of course, she’ll never say that out loud. “To my knowledge, Malivore Clarke is up to no good. Just yesterday, another report of three muggles passing away in a mysterious chemical breech reached the newspaper. The toxic substance in question?” 

Dumbledore’s blue eyes dim. He already knows the answer. 

“Black slime.” 

Snape takes another step in front of him, voice urgent. “Must I remind you of Seylah Chelon? We excused it once, we cannot again.” 

No. Dumbledore shakes his head, but says nothing at all. 

_This is for the greater good_, he assures himself, not for the first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was getting way too long so i had to cut it into two, next one should be up soon


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh

When Hope comes to the common room after dinner, she finds it suspiciously empty. 

She stops finding it suspicious when she notices Ryan Clarke sitting by the fireplace, legs crossed as if he had been waiting for her for quite some time. 

Surprise: he _has_. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy says right away—so, so creepily that Hope has no choice but to roll her eyes. 

It’s no wonder the common room is empty. He had probably scared every Slytherin in sight away. 

Hope folds her arms across her chest, eyeing the way the flames catch each other in the darkness. She scoffs. “Why?” 

“I need to ask you a favor,” he tells Hope, giving her a lopsided smile. She doesn’t find it charming, and only arches a single brow to clamp down on the urge to roll her eyes again. 

“The last time you asked me a favor,” she says, “I ended up in the hospital wing.” 

Ryan doesn’t seem to be listening. 

“As I’ve heard it,” he drawls, standing up and digging his hands into the pockets of his robes. “You have yet to select a date to the ball, despite your many...admirers.” 

Not a question. His eyes even sparkle. 

Hope narrows her own. “I rejected you. Get over it.”

An irritated scowl flickers at Ryan’s smile, but it’s gone before Hope can be sure that she truly saw it in the first place. He waves her off.“It’s not...that.”

His smile comes back full-force. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Hope says nothing, so Ryan only continues. 

“As I’ve _also_ heard it,” he says, quirking up his lip even further, like he’s somehow amused with himself, “Landon Kirby has the intention to ask you out to the ball tomorrow. You are familiar with him, yes?” 

Well. Yes. 

Hope already knows _that_. The boy had been eyeing her strangely every day this week. Of course, she would never accept his invitation, as he had asked Josie before her and that’s just weird. 

She briefly wonders who gave him the idea to ask her.

“He’s a Hufflepuff,” Hope deadpans. “So, no way in Salazar’s left ass—“ 

Ryan holds up a hand. “Just listen.” 

Hope bristles. How dare he silence her like that. As if he has power over her. 

“While the boy is a Huffepuff and, maybe even worse, a halfbreed,” Ryan admits, almost thoughtfully, “I have it on good authority that it would be in your best interests to allow him to take you.” 

Hope knits her eyebrows together. “On what _good authority_?” 

“Namely...” Ryan smirks, pausing for dramatic effect. Hope glances off to the door, wondering if she can leave as quickly as she came. “...My father.” 

“I understand that you are to meet with him on the night of the ball?” Hope nods. “Let’s just say that my father has taken a special interest in the boy. He would like it very much if you were able to introduce him after your meeting.” 

Hope scowls. That sounds like the exact opposite of where her best interests lie. “Why can’t _you_ do it?” 

“Believe me, it’s easier this way.” Ryan sighs, looking exasperated that the other pureblood doesn’t get it. “No one will blink at an innocent, pretty girl introducing her date to a family friend such as my father. On the other hand, if my father were to just waltz up to the boy, well, we might have a problem.” 

“Okay.” Hope’s scowl grows deeper. “Why _me_?” 

“I was going to ask Penelope but...” He trails off, giving her a pointed look. 

Right. 

Ever since what had happened in Potions with the Amortentia, everyone in Slytherin has been interrogating the girl and trying to get the truth out of her. Someone even slipped a babbling potion in her pumpkin juice during lunch, but Rose was able to get her away before Penelope could confess anything that would possibly ruin her reputation. 

For now, it’s just a rumor that Penelope secretly has a crush on Josie. As long as Hope and her friends stay in control and Penelope doesn’t slip-up again, the rumor won’t go any farther than just that—a rumor. 

“Jo is too old for him. Rose is too innocent,” he continues, listing off the reasons why it has to be Hope. “You know how Maya gets with Hufflepuffs. We nearly lost the match against them because she slept with half the team...” 

Hope raises her eyebrows. She hadn’t known that. 

Hold on. Is that why she always makes out with Hufflepuffs during victory parties? 

“I can’t risk the possibly she might lose focus and you know—“ 

He gestures something obscene with his fingers. Hope scrunches up her face, effectively grossed out. “Halfblood or not, a girl has needs.” 

Ryan even shrugs. What a pervert.

“So, what?” Hope unfolds her arms. She scoffs. “I’m supposed to tell Kirby that one of the most powerful, influential men in the wizarding world wants to have a little boys’ chat with him?”

The boy shakes his head resolutely. He sticks his finger out and leans forward, voice urgent. 

“You misunderstand me,” Ryan says. “The boy must not know a thing. My father wishes to surprise him. As such, you will not say a word. Promise?” 

“Promise?” Hope laughs. “What? Should I cross my heart and hope to die? Should we hook our pinkies and swear it to Merlin?” 

A brief flash of annoyance flickers in Ryan’s eyes, but he shakes it off as quickly as the first time. “Does this mean you’ll do it?” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek, weighing her options. On one hand, she really doesn’t want to go with Landon. On the other, she knows it’s important to her father to get in Malivore Clarke’s good graces. 

“It means I’m not saying no,” she decides. She lifts an eyebrow curiously. “What’s the deal with Kirby, anyway? I saw you talking to him the night of Slughorn’s party.” 

Something between panic and fear knits itself in the wrinkle of Ryan’s taut forehead. He looks away and turns his back on her, shoulders tightening. 

“Who is he to you?” 

The boy rolls his shoulders, relaxes them, and then turns back around. When Hope catches another glimpse of his face once more, she sees that he looks much more calm now. Much more collected. 

“No one,” Ryan tells her, a small, twisted smirk on his lips. Hope finds that she doesn’t quite like the mysterious glint in his eye. 

“No one at all.” 

—

Surely enough, Landon asks her out the next afternoon. 

He pulls her aside under a large white-oak tree outside the greenhouses after Herbology, with a gentle tap on her arm. She almost snaps at him to not touch her, to _never_ touch her, before remembering Ryan’s words from the night before. 

Sighing, Hope shakes off Ethan’s protective look and tells him that she’ll catch up with him later. Sebastian lingers behind, too, shooting the both of them curious looks, but he says nothing and only follows Ethan back to the castle. 

“Sorry, I just need to ask you something, it won’t take long, I swear,” Landon says, nervously, rubbing his sweaty palms on the material of his pants. 

She might have found his teenage, boy-like behavior endearing if she wasn’t so in love with Josie Saltzman. 

Hope gestures for the boy to get on with it. 

“Okay.” He swallows hard. 

A long pause. 

And then—

“How are you?” 

Hope almost slaps her forehead with her hand. Fuck. She might as well ask him herself, if only to get things moving. 

“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” She folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently. Merlin. This is so embarrassing. Can people see them talking? She hopes not. 

“Ha.” Landon laughs, the nervous smile on his face so wide Hope fears it might split his cheeks in half. She waits for him to stop laughing. 

“Actually,” the boy starts, the greens of his eyes flashing in the sunlight, “I wanted to know if you were going with anyone to the ball.” 

She looks at him blankly. 

“And if you’re not,” he continues, talking slowly as to not stammer or mess up on his words. Hope wonders how many times he’s practiced this in front of a mirror. “Would you like to go with me?” 

Hmm. Not _terrible_. 

Then again, his proposal should have been much better considering the fact that he had already asked other people out. Like Josie. 

Hope is inwardly boiling, but she just shrugs nonchalantly on the outside, pulling at her skirt. It’s her first tell that she’s uncomfortable. 

She’s also kind of hungry. She really doesn’t want to be late to lunch. Her stomach is killing her for food. 

“Sure,” the pureblood ends up saying. “What are you wearing?” 

Landon visibly lightens up like a Christmas tree. He adjusts his yellow tie and grins, before the corners of his lips drop. 

He looks as though he’s just remembered something, as if her question has only just registered now. 

“Oh.” He steps back, running a hand through his curly hair. His fingers get tangled and he yanks them out. “Well, I was just going to wear the dress robes I bought for Slughorn’s party. I don’t really, er, have enough...to buy a new one.” 

Well. That won’t do. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Hope bites down on her bottom lip. Landon isn’t that bad. He’s down-to-earth in a way that isn’t overly annoying, but definitely not in a way that she can ever get used to. He also gets brownie points for saving her from Elizabeth Saltzman’s cruel idea of a prank. “I’ll pick something out for you and have it sent to your room.” 

Hope already knows that she’s wearing burgundy-red to the ball. Her entire _family_ is. It’s not a question. Now she just needs to find something that matches for Landon. 

“I guess I should also send someone to take your measurements as well,” she says thoughtfully, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Do you know who Jinni is?” 

Landon tries his best to take all the information in, but it proves fairly difficult. It seems he can’t fathom someone else buying clothes for him. Weird. 

Or maybe he’s still surprised that she didn’t turn him down. 

When the boy finally opens his mouth to answer, Hope is already gone. 

—

Landon approaches her during lunch, too, for some odd reason. Hope almost chokes on her food when she sees him walking up to the Slytherin table. 

“Hey, Hope,” he says casually, like they’re friends or something. Hope imagines, briefly, that she has shriveled up underneath the table and died of embarrassment. Maybe she’ll forever haunt the halls of Hogwarts as a ghost. “You kind of took off before I could thank you.” 

Rose drops open her mouth—and her fork—whirling her head around to look at Hope. The pureblood catches Ryan’s eye a little ways down the table, and he nods imperceptibly at her. 

“No problem,” she deadpans, through the thick lump in her throat, still looking at Ryan. A flicker of a smile touches Landon’s lips, obviously shy at the attention of half of Slytherin on him. 

“I’ll see you at the dance?” The question could be innocent enough. In another life, maybe. Could be _friendly_. But the small gasp Maya lets out confirms that she knows it’s not. 

Other, quiet whispers start to spread from the Slytherin table to the other side of the great hall. They reach the Gryffindor table with startling speed. 

Fuck. Ryan definitely owes her for this. Owes her so much. 

“See you then,” Hope tells Landon, but she glares at Ryan. The Hufflepuff boy is smart enough to take the clear dismissal for what it is and walks back to his own table. 

The second he’s gone, Hope’s group of friends turn on her. Maya and Ethan start laughing while Rose just looks shocked beyond anger. 

Penelope is the only one that stays quiet, because, yeah, she can’t judge, and certainly not now. 

Haha. 

It’s not twenty minutes later when a boy seated at the Hufflepuff begins to unceremoniously rise from the table. 

Hope actually _does_ choke on her food this time when she realizes that the boy is not just a boy, but Landon Kirby. 

Not only is he floating above the table, but the sleeves of his robe have even caught fire, white-orange flames licking at the thick material and traveling up and down his arms and to his torso. What’s worse, maybe, is that a pair of feathered wings have attached themselves to his back, fluttering and flapping wildly as he flies higher and higher into the air.

Landon himself is a weird mix between dark purple and pale green, sweat dripping down his forehead as he simultaneously yells for help while trying his best to pat down his arms. 

The professors at the staff table pretend not to notice. 

Another Hufflepuff boy Hope thinks might be named Wade tries to help him down by grabbing onto his foot, but Landon keeps flying and just takes Wade with him. 

The pair float up together now, with Landon dangerously close to the high ceiling, knocking into floating Christmas trees. As they approach the wall, Wade stupidly decides to release his hold on Landon, unable to withstand the burn of the boy on fire. He falls at least twenty feet and hits the Hufflepuff table back-first. 

Ouch. 

Hope ignores Penelope laughing herself to tears nearby, and looks around for the person causing this mess. The teachers have just started getting involved, pointing their wands at Landon and sending an array of spells at the boy.   


None of them help. 

The pureblood continues to cast her gaze around the great hall, eyes stopping on Josie Saltzman, who is sitting at the Ravenclaw table with her hands hidden underneath it. 

Hope had chosen this spot on purpose when she had walked into the great hall, since it would provide her with the best vantage point to watch Josie during her lunch break. 

Now, looking at the muggleborn, she can’t help but regret her choice. 

Josie’s eyes are focused on Landon, not breaking contact with the boy, and her lips are moving with the long syllables of some type of incantation but Hope can’t hear a word. 

She narrows her eyes and leans forward, breath hitching in her throat when she realizes what Josie is doing. 

When she realizes that Josie is the reason Landon is flapping his wings in the middle of the great hall—on fire—like he’s a human bird or something. 

Hope continues to stare in disbelief, willing the other girl to look at her and stop what she’s doing. Perhaps feeling the pureblood’s gaze on her, Josie finally shifts her eyes away from Landon and locks them with Hope’s own. 

Her mouth instantly stops moving and she freezes, back tightening and face falling as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. 

The second Josie loses her concentration, the flames that have taken over Landon’s entire body extinguish and he begins to slowly float back down to the Hufflepuff table. His wings even disappear. 

Thank Merlin. 

Peeking back over to Josie, the pureblood accidentally makes eye-contact with Josie’s sister over the girl’s shoulder, who is sitting at the Gryffindor table and directly behind Josie. 

Hope swallows hard. 

The blonde is glancing between her, Josie, and Landon with no small hint of distrust, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. 

—

The next day finds Lizzie Saltzman sitting in the library of Hogwarts during her lunch break, lips curled and nose wrinkled in disgust as she watches a boy in the far right corner attempting to discreetly pick his nose. 

She eyes the gold and red of his tie with disappointment as he wipes whatever he finds in his nose on his pants. Lizzie feels bile rise in her throat and shudders delicately. 

Of course. The library is already crowded—_surely_, a breeding ground for germs and disease—yet the boy seems not to care that literally everyone can see him. 

Whatever. It might do him well to get caught. Lizzie throws a sideways glance to the librarian, Madame Pince, who is also watching the boy with a similar look of disgust. 

The blonde’s observations are cut short as she feels a looming presence behind her, which casts a small shadow over the table she’s sitting at. The shadow isn’t scary or all that threatening, but Lizzie feels the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end anyway. 

She chances throwing a look over her shoulder, immediately rolling her eyes and turning back around the second she does. 

“Ugh.” Lizzie lets out a deep sigh and pointedly resumes reading the book she had checked out from Pince on Cross-Species Transfiguration, placing a careful, bored expression on her face. “Go away.” 

The shadow hovers, almost unsure. Hesitant. All uncertainty vanishes within seconds, though, and then the shadow turns into a person. 

Rose Nicot rounds the table, wrapping her fingers around the edge of it and moving forward. “No.” 

“Fine,” Lizzie growls through clenched teeth. She lays her book flat on the table, leaning back in her chair. The air around them feels charged. Tense. “What do you want?” 

“I want you to get out of my head,” she mutters, as if it’s more for herself than for Lizzie, as if Lizzie isn’t supposed to hear it at all.

Huh.

Weird.

Lizzie herself only narrows her eyes and chooses not to say anything, seemingly uncaring. She’ll pretend that she doesn’t understand. For now. It’s better if Rose misjudges her as a dumb blonde or something. 

The girl across from her reaches for a chair and pulls it out, sitting down and folding her arms across her chest lazily. 

“Did I say you could sit down?” Lizzie asks rudely. She pretends to shift in her seat and slowly reaches for her wand where it resides in her pocket, pointing it right at Rose underneath the table. 

Just a precaution. 

“Are you scared of me?” Rose ignores Lizzie’s question for one of her own, eyes narrowed and unblinking. She seems even...casual. 

Lizzie’s grip on her wand relaxes as she wonders what the hell that means. 

“Of course not—“ 

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I can see your wand,” Rose says, matter-of-fact. She even smiles. That _bitch_. 

For once in her goddamn life, Lizzie finds herself at a loss for words. She parts her lips and struggles with the right thing to say, before moving her wand above the table, keeping it level with Rose’s chest. 

“Better?” she asks, matter-of-fact, too. She smiles for the fun of it. 

A corner of Rose’s lips pulls inward, as if she’s biting the inside of her cheek. 

“Listen,” she lowers her voice to something between a whisper and a hiss, “I didn’t come here to start a duel—“ 

“Then why did you?” 

Rose sighs. “I was getting to that, if you would just let me finish.” 

Lizzie blinks, but puts her wand back into her pocket. 

“I came here to ask for understanding,” the other girl tells her. “If you have a single empathetic bone in your body, you’ll hear me out.” 

Is she serious? Lizzie owes this girl nothing. It doesn’t matter that she might have helped her out in a rough situation a week or two ago. 

She owes her _nothing_. 

“Why would I ever waste my time listening to a Slytherin?” the blonde asks, sarcastically, closing her book and standing up. 

Rose stands up with her, quickly enough to stop Lizzie from walking away. 

“Because it concerns your sister.” 

Lizzie’s breath catches dangerously in her throat. She darts her eyes around the library, not quite able to meet the other girl’s. 

Does Rose know? 

Oh, _God_. Had Josie told this girl about her relationship with Mikaelson before telling her own sister? 

“What about my sister?” The blonde sits back down, hugging her book protectively across her chest. She hopes it’s big enough to cover her throbbing heart. 

“You’re being selfish,” is all Rose says, simply. 

“How?” 

“She needs your support, and you won’t give it to her.” Lizzie’s throat closes up. Rose doesn’t know a thing. She doesn’t know a thing at all. “They’re happy, and you’re making everything about yourself.” 

Yup. Lizzie is going to _kill_ her sister. 

“A bit like the pot calling the cauldron black, isn’t it?” the blonde snaps. “This isn’t your business.” 

Something insecure flickers across the other girl’s eyes, and Lizzie takes full advantage. She puts down her book, tone faintly threatening. 

“Tell me, do your housemates know that you’re having a little tête-à-tête with a _mudblood_?” 

Rose only smirks. Lizzie’s face contorts into confusion. “That depends. Do your parents know you dated an elitist pureblood?” 

Lizzie flushes. 

Right. _Sebastian_. 

Thoughts of Sebastian have never once left her mind, not a single time in the weeks since they split despite her moving on. She still holds him high in her memories, still remembers the way his hands clutched at her hips when they danced, the way he would bury his face in the crook of her neck when they slept together, the way he would never once raise his voice at her, even when they got into fights. 

When he told her that he loved her for the first time, she thought she would never love another person again. 

Nostalgia makes Lizzie’s stomach clench. She looks away from Rose, unable to bear her relentless, unforgiving memories. 

In some ways, Rose reminds her a little bit of Sebastian. Cocky. Privileged. Probably has never cleaned a day in her life. Probably doesn’t know that a broom can do more than play quidditch and fly. 

So, yeah, Rose reminds her of Sebastian, but just a little bit. They have more differences than anything else. 

For instance, Rose’s accent isn’t as thick as Sebastian’s. Sometimes his was so heavy and cloying that Lizzie could never know what he was talking about. Especially during sex. Most times she would be forced to just nod and hope he wasn’t asking her a question or something.

“You’re not only selfish, but you’re a hypocrite, too,” Rose continues. “Just because your fling with Sebastian didn’t end well, it doesn’t mean that you have to ruin it for everyone else, and it certainly doesn’t mean—“ 

“Leave Sebastian out of this,” Lizzie bites out, exasperated. She is done with this conversation. She is so _done_ with the way her heart still longs for Sebastian, she is so done with Rose throwing it in her face like it’s nothing. 

“You have no right,” she goes on. “It is because of my past with Sebastian that I know there can’t be a future with my sister and...” 

She stops herself short. 

“..._Any_ pureblood,” Lizzie finishes. “What do you think will happen once we leave this place? They can’t stay a secret forever, and I know it’ll destroy my family when they find out. If anything, I’m doing them both a favor. You don’t know a thing about me—“ 

“I know you love your sister,” Rose cuts in, her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. Lizzie notices that her nails are painted pink. She wonders what shade of polish they are. Clearly something pastel. Hmm. Lizzie had always wanted to try painting her own nails pink, but she could never seem to figure out whether it would clash with her skin tone or not. “And if you truly wish to make her happy, you’ll forgive her. And then, maybe, yourself. If you don’t, it’ll haunt you for the rest of your life, but I don’t think I have to tell you that.” 

The two stare at each other for a long moment. 

Lizzie briefly notes that her chest is quivering. It feels a little like she has stopped learning how to breathe for hours and has only now remembered what it’s like. 

Is she really so transparent that a literal _stranger_ can see right through her? Is the solution really this obvious? 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Lizzie puts her book away in her bag, packing up her things. She checks her watch. She only has a couple of minutes until her next class starts. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says, keeping her voice deceptively even, “I mustn’t be late to my next class.” 

Rose follows after her, perhaps not convinced that she’s gotten through to Lizzie. 

“Wait. You’re going to Defense, right?” Lizzie doesn’t confirm or deny. “Would you like to walk there together?” 

Lizzie picks up her pace. “I would rather walk off a cliff,” she says. 

She can feel the heat of Rose’s eyes on the back of her head as she leaves. She tells herself not to look back. 

She doesn’t. 

On the other side of the library...

“What are you doing? We’re going to be late to Defense,” Hope grumbles, trying to struggle out of Josie’s vice-like grip as the other girl pulls her behind a bookcase. 

Her eyes widen when she realizes that they’re in the restricted section.

“You’ve never cared about that before,” Josie says easily, pushing Hope’s shoulders so that the pureblood’s back hits the wood of the bookshelf. She huffs out an exhale of a breath and rolls her eyes. 

“I told you,” she whispers, looking around from side to side in search of Madame Pince. “Snape’s been keeping an eye on me lately.” 

Good. No sign of the librarian. 

That would really _suck_ if she caught them here. Then again, the library is fairly crowded. Hopefully that’ll distract Pince in the meantime. 

Hope adds, “Being late to his class will only give him more reason to be suspicious of me.” 

Josie just stares at her, nodding along but Hope knows that she’s not truly listening. Instead, her eyes are trained on the crook of Hope’s messy collar. She reaches out with her fingers and lays it flat, fixing the pureblood’s twisted tie while she’s at it. 

Hope places her fingers on top of the brunette’s own in a poor attempt to stop them. 

“Josie—“ she tries. 

“Do you want to talk about Snape or do you want to make out with me?” 

Hope chokes on her spit. “I...uh...y-yeah.” 

Is that even a question? 

Suddenly Hope can’t remember why she had ever wanted to leave in the first place. 

Fisting a hand into Josie’s robe, she pulls the muggleborn closer and against her own body. Josie looks quite happy with herself, if the small grin on her lips is anything to go by. 

Both lean into the kiss and their mouths meet in the middle, with Josie snaking her hands around Hope’s collar and winding her arms around the pureblood’s neck to pull her closer. 

The warning bell for their next class rings to pull them apart before their lips even touch. 

Hope groans, repeating her sentiment from earlier. “We’re going to be late.” 

Sharp nails dig lightly into the skin of her nape, curling into the small hairs there. Josie sighs, breath puffing against Hope’s lips. “Then you should hurry up and kiss me.” 

Hope’s throat bobs, struggling with herself. Josie’s eyes dip down, as if to watch how the flesh of the pureblood’s neck works. 

Hope darts her own eyes out around the library, to the students hurriedly leaving and to Madame Pince hurriedly rushing them out. 

She should leave. Her and Josie should leave. _Now_. If they kiss, Hope doesn’t know if she’ll be able to stop it. 

For example, yesterday, Josie had merely pecked her on the lips and it had turned into a complete, full, make-out/dry-humping session. _Nevermind_ what had happened Wednesday night after Josie found out what Hope had done in order to dodge Snape’s questions. 

Besides, DADA is one of the classes farthest away from the library. They need to get going now if they can ever hope to make it in time to avoid invoking Snape’s wrath. 

“No,” Hope decides, a small smirk on her face that makes Josie pout. “I am not going to kiss you. Let’s go.” 

She gently removes the other girl’s arms from around her neck and makes to pass her, but Josie doesn’t seem to like that very much. She trails a hand over Hope’s hip to stop her—there but not there, soft but burning like hot coals. 

“Oh,” she says, voice coy, something between teasing and taunting. Suggestive. “You’re not?” 

Hope sucks in a ragged breath and twists her body around, mouth running dry as Josie bites her bottom lip and stares up at her beneath her dark eyelashes. 

Her lips have never looked so delectable, glistening with a light sheen of lipgloss that Hope suddenly can’t remember the taste of and is dying to find out. 

Her tongue hangs heavy in her mouth. She feels like a dog panting after its owner. 

“You know,” Josie tells her, voice still so honeyed and light. But her eyes are dark. Darker than Hope has ever seen them. “I’m wearing the same lip gloss I wore on Monday.” 

She tilts her head to the side, grabbing onto the pureblood’s robes. Hope tries to resist. She does. _Honest_. “That’s your favorite, right?” 

“Fuck,” Hope breathes out, the curse falling out of her mouth like a prayer to Merlin. Does that mean...? 

Just because she’s curious—

“The candy-cane one?” 

“Yup.” 

The corner of Josie’s mouth quirks, and then she’s bending down as Hope rises up. Their lips collide within seconds, the pureblood wrapping an arm around Josie’s waist and pressing her against the nearest wall just as she thinks her legs might give out. 

The kiss is sweet, but wanton, and Hope will never want it or have it any other way. With lips burning like brands and fingers like flames stoking fire. 

No other way at all. 

Especially not when Josie’s body against her own feels like the sun warming her up after a long, cold day inside. Especially not when Josie tastes like Christmas and all things good in the world. 

She never stays in one spot for very long, her touch drifting across the corner of Hope’s lip one moment and then scraping her teeth along her bottom one the next. 

The pureblood’s only hope is to press closer and attempt to deliver a bite of her own. When she sweeps her tongue lightly over Josie’s lips in a silent plea to part them, Josie shudders and moans softly. 

The two explore each other’s mouths as if this is the first time they ever have, until Josie leans away to catch her breath. 

Somewhere along the way, Hope’s lips travel down Josie’s neck to leave kisses like bruises. The muggleborn arches into every single one as if she wants the imprint of Hope’s mouth to sink into her skin. 

At least, Hope wants that very much. 

She dips down even further to nip at the junction between Josie’s shoulder and neck, drawing little circles with her tongue to soothe the bites. Her abdomen coils tightly at the first sound of Josie’s breath noticeably hitching, followed by a gasp. 

A _quiet_ one. 

They _are_ in the library, after all. 

Hope drops the arm curled around Josie’s back and slips her hand underneath the other girl’s skirt to rest on the hem. She doesn’t allow herself to touch skin just yet, only thumbing the dark fabric and drawing back to whisper in Josie’s ear. 

“Can I go under this?” she murmurs, finishing the sentence with a secret kiss an inch or two below Josie’s earlobe. The muggleborn nods so eagerly that Hope grins from ear to ear. 

Josie doesn’t seem to notice, her face turned to the side to give Hope better access to her neck. 

Hope takes it all greedily, tongue swirling, teeth scraping. She works on a spot on the underside of Josie’s jaw for a good minute or two or three—she always loses time with Josie—not satisfied until it changes color underneath her mouth. 

And fuck, she loves the way the brunette bruises so easily, just for her. 

She has to kind of wonder why they don’t do this more. Why they don’t make-out in the restriction section like this in broad daylight on a normal basis. 

The muggleborn is pretty good at it, and Hope doesn’t like to toot her own horn or anything but, well, yeah.

“I was thinking,” Josie starts, between small gasps and pants, “that you could come to my room tonight—“ 

“_Oh_.” 

Hope’s hand stills from underneath Josie’s skirt, fingertips brushing along the inside of her knees. She desperately wants to move them higher, but she doesn’t know if the other girl is ready for that. 

“And we could...” 

Just to experiment, just to see what happens, just because she’s curious, Hope walks her fingers a little higher.

Another gasp. More panting right into her ear. 

“I...” Hope leans forward to hear the rest, which gets lost in Josie’s hard breathing. 

Oh. Is she asking Hope to come to her room for...? 

She wants that so, so bad. They’ve already waited so long. 

“Yeah?” Hope implores, too eagerly to even try to appear casual. 

“We could...” Like a trance, Hope continues to move closer, so that Josie’s lips brush against her ear. 

“Dance.” 

Hope leans back and tears herself away without warning, confused. The space is just enough to clear her foggy head. “Sorry, what?”

“Please, please, teach me how to dance,” Josie says, almost whining, begging. 

Right. Yesterday night, Dumbledore had announced that it was mandatory for those attending the ball to dance and to actually hold a conversation with their dates. 

“I don’t want to embarrass myself at the ball,” the brunette adds after a moment, shyly. 

Somehow, Josie’s breathing has evened out remarkably quickly, surprisingly quickly, as if she had been putting on some kind of act this entire time. What happened to the girl that was panting and squirming underneath Hope’s mouth and fingers? 

Hold on. 

Hope narrows her eyes. 

Had Josie seduced Hope to get her to agree to teaching the brunette how to dance? 

“Is that what this is about?” the pureblood asks, a little offended but mostly impressed. She gestures between them, to their kiss-swollen lips and the red marks on Josie’s neck. “You kissed me so I’d say yes to pretty much anything you asked?” 

Josie doesn’t even try to deny it. “Well, when you say it like that...” 

She giggles a smile, moving forward so that her fingers close in on Hope’s shoulders. With her thumb, she gently strokes the sensitive spot on Hope’s collarbone. The pureblood does her best not to make a sound. 

“Are you mad at me?” Josie asks, curiously, tilting her head to the side with that same smile on her lips. 

“No,” Hope tells her, and here comes the but—

“But answer me this,” she says, which promptly makes Josie’s smile drop off her face. “Were you involved in what happened with Kirby yesterday during lunch?” 

The question is off-topic, too sudden, out of nowhere—but it’s been on Hope’s mind for the past day. 

This isn’t the first time she’s tried asking, but Josie hasn’t given her a single straight answer other than vaguely denying it with responses such as: 

_ You’re kidding, right?  _

_ Are you still thinking about that?  _

_ Why? Do you have feelings for him or something?  _

_ How many times have you asked me that?  _

“This again? I told you, I had no part in that,” Josie says, removing her hands from Hope as if burned. 

She can’t quite look the pureblood in the eye. This is what ends up giving her away. 

“Josie,” Hope starts, slowly, in a low tone of voice, breath catching like fire in her throat, “I saw you.”

The library goes silent. Then:

“Fine,” the brunette admits, almost snapping at her. Hope pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs deeply. “I did it. _Okay_? If you want me to make me feel bad, no need. Trust me, I can’t feel any more awful than I already do by myself, so—“ 

“Why?” Hope speaks up. The question is innocent enough, maybe, but it slices her throat on the way up and leaves her in agony of the answer. “Why did you do it?” 

“He asked you out to the ball,” Josie says, like it’s clear. Obvious. “Why else?” 

“But he’s your friend.” Hope is even more confused now. A little angry, too. 

“I know, right?” Josie gets the wrong idea. She thinks that Hope is on her side. “Why would he betray me like that?” 

The muggleborn seems almost unaffected. Numb. Half of Hope wants to grab her shoulders and shake her out of it. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Josie doesn’t blink. “Merlin, Jo, he was sent to the hospital wing with second-degree burns.” 

Finally, the other girl comes back to herself. The fog over her dark eyes clears up. 

“I know, I know,” Josie breathes, running her hands through her messy hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Hope tells her, and woah—

Who is she? What kind of person has she turned into? Who has she become? 

Three months ago, she would have never cared about Landon at all, and definitely not about someone apologizing to him. 

Three months ago, if Landon had been on fire and flying to his untimely death, Hope would have fucking laughed. She would have laughed so hard her stomach hurt. 

“You’re right," Josie says, eyebrows drawn together with sincerity. “I’ll go find him after class. I’ll own up to it and everything.” 

Shit. _Class_.

Hope had almost forgotten. 

They’re late. Most definitely later than they had been before. 

Hope steps back, thinking that this is a pleasant end to their conversation and now they’re both ready to leave. “Good.”

“So...” The brunette leans forward again, a promise of sin on her lips. She jokes, “You’ll teach me how to dance?” 

Hope looks at her blankly. 

“Please?” 

The pureblood cracks a smile, and Josie jumps on it in no time. “Yay! Thank you.” 

She pecks Hope on the cheek and nearly skips away, but Hope is quick to follow her. “Wait. Your room is too small to dance in.” 

Josie pouts. It seems she hadn’t thought about that little detail before. “What do you propose, then?” 

Fuck. Hope hadn’t gotten that far in her thinking, either. There has to be an easy answer, though. 

Maybe they could do it in the hallways? 

The third floor corridor is certainly wide enough for them to dance in. Or maybe not. They might fall into trouble if someone hears them prancing around like a pair of gazelles. 

“I don’t know,” Hope tells her, at last, seeming deeply upset about it. “Just give me some time and I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” 

—

She lied. 

Not six hours later, Hope Mikaelson is a pathetic, utter _mess_. 

She is now frantically pacing through random corridors of the school, opening every door she can find in hopes she stumbles across a ball room or anything large enough to dance in.

And, of course, something secret enough that the she and Josie won’t have to risk getting discovered in. 

No chance of that. 

Hope has already explored six entire floors of the castle. On the fourth floor, she had found a locked door that led to an empty room as grand as the great hall, but she had spooked herself silly and left when she could have sworn she heard footsteps and cat meows. 

She had also found a smaller room that was fit for ballroom dancing on the fifth floor, but she hadn’t stayed for long when she saw that the door wouldn’t lock no matter how many different spells and charms she had used to try. 

It’s not until she reaches the seventh floor on the left corridor that she finds something. 

The seventh floor is the last floor of Hogwarts, so it’s really also her last _hope_. She checks through every door quickly but thoroughly, roaming the halls with her head swiveling left and right. 

After the first time the pureblood surveys the floor and comes up with nothing, she refuses to give up and goes through it again. 

She can’t disappoint Josie, and she really needs to find something quick before the brunette thinks that Hope has gone and stood her up. 

They’re set to meet in a couple of minutes outside the Slytherin common room, so Hope needs to find something fast. 

During her third round of the seventh floor, she passes an empty wall of tapestry, but she pauses as she hears some sort of scraping noise behind her. 

When she turns back to look, she sees that the tapestry has disappeared, and thick lines are etching themselves into the stone bricks of the wall like magic. 

Before long, the imprint of a door settles into the wall where there had been nothing before. The door is the same tone and texture as the wall, but there is no door knob or handle to open it with. 

Hope steps backward to take it in for just a second, and then she pushes against the center of the door with the palm of her hand. 

Inside, the room bends and shapes itself to her will right in front of her eyes. 

The ceiling expands higher and higher, with three elegant chandeliers sprouting from the highest points. Each chandelier seems to have about a hundred lit candles, casting the room in a bright glow. The walls are a neutral color between yellow and light-brown, with dark crown molding and trim paneling. 

In the middle of the room sits a black grand piano. The keys appear to be tapping themselves, eliciting soft sounds that bring music to Hope’s ears. 

This is..._perfect_. 

Exactly what she needs. And maybe it might impress Josie a little, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter got too long again so i had to cut it off. again. :(
> 
> i think this story will end at chapter 60, including two, sort of, epilogue chapters, but we’ll see
> 
> thanks for reading :)


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m sorry this is so long, i’ll try to make chapters shorter from now on

“I’m tired.” 

Hope rolls her eyes. “_You’re_ tired? I’ve climbed fourteen flights of stairs in the past half hour.” 

"That’s not fair. I don’t do sports like you do,” Josie whines, the soft pads of her socks thudding dully against the floor. Hope continues to pull her along by her hand as they finally reach the seventh floor. 

Underneath her breath, the brunette mutters, “Why does a school even need to have seven stories, anyway?” 

Hope pretends not to hear her. 

“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” she asks, instead. 

“I couldn’t find my heels,” Josie says. 

“So you decided not to wear anything at all?” 

“I’m wearing _socks_.” 

“With...” Hope pauses, stealing another glance at Josie’s socks. “...Purple cats on them?” 

“I didn’t have time to change,” the brunette tells her, simply. She even lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “And I didn’t want to be late to meet with you.” 

Aww. How sweet. 

“Obviously,” Josie adds, voice lowered and tone a little snarky, “you didn’t feel the need to share the same courtesy with me.” 

“I already told you,” Hope huffs out, trying hard not to pant. She’s a bit winded from all this walking. “I was _climbing fourteen flights of stairs_.” 

“What a convenient excuse.” 

Hope stops walking so suddenly that Josie bumps into her back. She stumbles around and almost slips, before the pureblood catches her around the waist. 

She lets out a deep sigh and rolls her shoulders. Josie tries to pretend she hadn’t just tripped over air. “Do you want me to teach you how to dance or not?” 

Josie’s lips down-turn into a deep pout, and she starts to look everywhere but Hope like some petulant child. Hope watches her and stays silent for a long moment, before intertwining their fingers again and starting toward the corridor she had found the ball room in. 

“Okay, then.” She smirks, just a little. “We’re almost there.”

Her smirk falls a second later. 

“Aye, aye, Captain—“ 

Hope stops walking again. 

She asks the same question.

Josie pouts once more. 

She makes another joke and/or complaint. 

Cycle on repeat. 

After about another minute of walking, the two begin to approach the wall Hope had stood in front of not ten minutes ago. Except, the wall is blank and covered in the same tapestry it had been when Hope first passed it.

“Huh.” The pureblood frowns, feeling embarrassed. She had all but dragged Josie up seven floors for something she had probably imagined. “It was right here, I swear.” 

To her surprise, the brunette doesn’t look at her like she’s crazy. She just seems concerned. Josie cocks her head to the side. 

“Have you been getting enough sleep, babe?” she asks, eyebrows knitted in worry. Hope rolls her eyes but pinks at the affectionate pet name all the same. 

“I...um, y-yes. Yeah.” 

The pureblood looks down at her feet and curses inwardly, but she doesn’t have to feel embarrassed for very long. 

“Wow,” Josie breathes out next to her and disconnects their hands, startling Hope out of her self-pitiful thoughts. 

Her eyes dart out back to the wall, and she relaxes her shoulders in relief when she sees that the door she had found earlier is now back and opening up again. 

Josie invites herself inside, her hands falling dead at her sides as she marvels at the magnificence of the room. 

Hope looks around herself, noticing that the neutral walls from earlier have turned pink. The crown molding and wall trim is much lighter, and the black piano is now white, but the keys are still moving on their own.

The muggleborn begins to hum quietly, before she seems to remember herself and turns back to Hope. “This is amazing,” she says, a little breathless, eyes a little wet. 

Hope has to agree. 

“I know,” she whispers, for some odd reason, as if talking in her normal voice might disrupt the silent beauty of the room. She grabs Josie’s hand again and leads her near the piano, so that they stand directly across from each other in parallel. 

“Ready?” she asks, softly. 

Josie seems surprised. 

“Oh.” She blinks. “We’re starting _now_?” 

Hope smirks. “Do you need time to prepare? I can wait outside.”

Josie blushes and shakes her head, but Hope swears the girl mumbles something like “asshat” underneath her breath. 

“Alright,” Hope starts, trying to talk louder so she can be heard over the piano notes. “Raichter is taller than you and doesn’t know you very well, so she’ll be expecting to lead. Therefore, _I’ll_ lead. You’ll follow.” 

Josie frowns, almost confused. Something flickers across her eyes like amusement. It gives Hope pause. “But you’re shorter than me.” 

The pureblood bites her tongue. How rude. “That’s not...relevant.” 

“Why not?” Josie asks. “You just said—“ 

“Fine,” Hope snaps, making the brunette giggle. “We’ll switch off.” 

A pause.

“I’ll start.” 

She steals Josie’s right hand in her left, and attaches her own right hand to the other girl’s waist. Josie gets the idea and places her left hand on Hope’s shoulder without the pureblood having to tell her to. 

“Good.” Hope smiles, just the smallest hint of both corners of her lips rising. It grows wider when Josie smiles back, happy with the praise. “All you have to do is follow where _this_—“

She tightens her hold on Josie’s side in emphasis. She pretends not to feel Josie shudder beneath her fingers. 

“—Hand moves you. Okay?” 

The brunette nods. 

“Now,” Hope says, “you walk backwards, I walk forwards.” 

She nods her head to gesture for Josie to move, but she doesn’t. 

“Wait.” Josie drops her hands from Hope’s body. She takes a step back. “Can you take off your shoes?” 

Hope frowns. If the muggleborn keeps this up, they won’t make it out of here until after midnight. 

“Why?” 

Josie simply pouts. “It’ll hurt me if you step on my feet or something.” 

The pureblood leans back, kind of offended that Josie thinks she’s so incompetent as to stomp on her toes like some brainless, idiot troll. She’s fucking _Hope Mikaelson_. In all her years of dancing lessons, she has never _once_ done that. 

“I’m not going to step on your feet,” she reassures Josie, unable to keep the arrogance out of her voice.

Josie just stares at her for long enough that all Hope can do is sigh and slip off her shoes, kicking them a few feet behind her. It leaves her in her grey, boring socks. 

She swallows down her pride with a quiet cough. “Now,” she repeats for the second time, “you walk backwards, I walk forwards.” 

Funnily enough, Josie is the one that ends up stepping on her feet. 

“Ow,” Hope yelps, all but pushing herself away. She glares at the other girl like a wronged toddler, resisting the urge to bend down and rub her foot in earnest. “That was intentional.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Josie doesn’t seem to care. “Let’s go again.” 

Hope scowls, but steps forward with her left foot just as Josie does the same with her right. Their chests crash together, chins banging off of one another. To add, Josie somehow manages to step on Hope’s foot again. 

“Merlin,” Hope mutters. She eyes Josie, her other toe still smarting from the first time. “You seriously don’t know how to do a simple box-step?” 

The brunette cocks her head to the side. “What’s that?” 

Hope swallows hard. Josie doesn’t know what the box-step is? 

She watches the other girl carefully for about twenty seconds to try to figure out if she’s joking, but Josie remains unblinking and oblivious. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Hope says, when the twenty seconds pass. Josie pouts and instantly makes her feel bad for it. 

“I don’t understand,” she continues. She remembers Josie telling her that she had been lucky that night, but surely no one can be _that_ lucky. “How did you fool me so well during Slughorn’s party?” 

Josie blushes. 

“I thought it was obvious,” she tells Hope, slowly. The pureblood still doesn’t understand. 

She furrows her eyebrows, fingers tapping against Josie’s flank. The brunette fidgets and twitches her own fingers on Hope’s shoulder. 

“What is?” 

Josie’s throat bobs. 

“I drank Felix Felicis,” she confesses. “The night of the party, I mean.” 

Hope balks. Her face loses color, and she leans away before she can control her reaction. “Really?” 

“I wanted everything to go smoothly,” Josie explains, “and I guess I couldn’t quite help myself, especially since it worked out so well.” 

Her eyes sparkle, then, as if recalling some old memory or another. Hope wonders if she’s thinking about Slughorn’s party, if she’s remembering the way she and Hope had been practically flirting for half the night before it had all gone to shit. 

Yeah, Hope guesses, it _had_ worked out well for _Josie_. She had seduced and lured the pureblood in as easily as a snake does its prey, and at the end of the night, Hope had been the one left reeling from the potion’s effects. 

“It worked out well on my part, too,” Hope blurts. Josie’s eyes widen minutely, and she freezes in Hope’s hold. “I don’t think I would have danced with you had I not taken the potion.” 

“If I’m being honest,” she admits, voice turning timid, shoulders drawing in, “The only reason I attended the party in the first place was to talk to you.” 

“Really?” 

The two start gently swaying together, not quite dancing but not quite staying completely still at the same time. 

“Yeah,” Hope chuckles out. “I was going to give you a piece of my mind for embarrassing me the day before. Of course, everything changed when I realized that the girl I had been dancing with all night was you.” 

Josie laughs, giggles simmering down into a pout as she comes to some sort of realization. “So, you’re telling me we only got together because of a silly potion?” 

“Yup,” Hope tells her, but she doesn’t really mean it. They had gotten together due to bravery, not luck. “And it looks like our only hope now is to brew you another one.” 

Josie arches a perfect eyebrow in confusion. 

“No offense, _Saltzman_,” she emphasizes the last name, a lazy smirk on her face. She then gestures to her own feet, where Josie had been stepping on her toes almost nonstop this entire time. “But you can’t dance for shit. You’re hopeless.” 

Josie lets out a sigh that puffs against Hope’s forehead. The pureblood inhales her scent and allows the tense muscles in her back to unwind. 

“It takes weeks to make Felix Felicis,” Josie says, almost begging now. “We don’t have that kind of time. Just help me.” 

“Okay.” Hope forces them to a pause, so that they stop swaying. She has to take a deep breath to gather her thoughts. It’s almost impossible to think with the other girl this close to her. When she finally finds herself able, she asks, in all seriousness, “Do you know how to count to three?” 

Josie shoots her a glare, which has the pureblood stifling a deep-bellied laugh. She simply smirks and looks away, somewhere over Josie’s shoulder. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmurs, moving them back into position. “On one, you step backward with your right, and I step forward with my—no, your _right_, Josie...your right. Okay, good, wait—you step back, no, _back_—“ 

They stumble around for about an hour like this, counting out a one-two-three pattern, with Josie blatantly disobeying Hope’s instructions over and over again. After the music the piano is playing loops over for the fiftieth time, Hope pulls out of the dance. 

“It’s almost like you get worse the more I teach you,” she says, causing Josie to blush. Surprise, surprise: she pouts again. 

“Shut up,” Josie tells her, pulling Hope back into her. She looks down at the ground as they continue to move back and forth and then to the side. 

“And you need to stop looking at your feet,” Hope adds, causing the other girl’s eyes to flicker up. Josie loses her concentration and steps on Hope’s pinky toe again. 

The pureblood grumbles quietly in response. 

“Where else should I look?” Josie asks, having not noticed a thing. 

“At my face,” Hope says, simply. “You need to get used to it. Think of dancing as a conversation. You don’t look at the floor when you talk to people, do you?” 

“How romantic,” Josie mutters sarcastically, but she listens. Hope tries not to flare her nose and bristle from the remark. 

Unfortunately, the brunette can’t look her in the eye for more than ten seconds before she bursts out laughing and bends over with her hand clutching at her stomach. 

“Forget it.” Hope tries to stay strong and unwavering, but a small smile flickers at the edges of her mouth. “If you’re too childish to make eye-contact, you’ll want to look over Raichter’s shoulder.” 

They continue to dance, with Josie looking over Hope’s shoulder instead of her feet. It’s only a small improvement, though, since the muggleborn still needs to count in order to avoid messing up her steps. 

After another hour, Josie finally completes the box-step without having to count out loud. She immediately starts celebrating. 

“Yes!” she cheers, clapping her hands together with an adorable beam gracing her lips. Hope watches her softly, since she doesn’t want to ruin the mood or undermine the other girl’s progress. “I did it! We’re done.” 

“Hold on.” Josie’s smile falls. “Why aren’t you happy for me?” 

“I am, I am,” Hope hurries to convince her, but at the same time, she has to be honest. “It’s just—we’ve barely started. We still have the rest of the waltz. You need to be able to do the box-step while moving in circles and turns.” 

She pauses. “Did Beauxbatons seriously not teach you any of this?” 

“Well...” Josie seems to think about it. “We had ballet classes, but that was really only for those with Veela blood. Lizzie got into them because of her blonde hair, but...” 

She pointedly fingers a single strand of her own brunette locks, that had fallen out of her messy ponytail. 

Hope laughs. “Right.”

“Okay.” Josie snatches her hand away from Hope’s, stepping back to lean tiredly against the piano. Her eyes flutter closed. “Can we finish this next week? I’m exhausted.” 

Hope nods and settles back into the space next to the other girl, closing her own eyes and nodding off to the music. The soft sounds of waltz notes begin to fade to softer sounds of lullabies. 

“Hey.” Hope opens her eyes to find Josie already staring at her, an expression on her face she can’t quite interpret. If she didn’t know any better, she would say the muggleborn is about to suggest something not entirely appropriate. “You know what sounds good right now?” 

Hope tilts her head curiously, eyes a little bleary. She briefly has the thought that she really needs to get some sleep. “What?” 

Josie smiles wide. “A hot bath.” 

The pureblood nods her head in agreement. She could use a hot bath. Merlin knows her body needs it. “That does sound nice,” Hope admits. 

Josie’s fingers crawl down Hope’s arm and lightly skim over the even pulse of her wrist. Hope shivers, just enough for the other girl to notice it and smile. 

“Wanna know what sounds even better?” Josie asks, leaning forward, to whisper in a voice like smoke, “A hot bath. _Together_.” 

Oh. 

Hope’s sleepy eyes are now wide open. 

She no longer feels tired. No longer needs to sleep. 

All noise seems to end. Hope thinks that she might not even be breathing anymore. Right on time, the piano keys abruptly stop tapping on their own. 

Josie throws a weird look at the piano but turns back to Hope with something bright and hopeful in her eyes. It doesn’t help that the beginnings of a blush are starting to paint the very edges of her cheeks. 

Hope quickly stands up and pushes off the piano. Her fingers wrap around Josie’s wrist and her eyes settle on the door with determination. She strides over to it and pushes it open in seconds, Josie stumbling behind her. 

“Your room?” She looks back briefly at Josie to ask the question, still pulling the other girl along. She stops walking when Josie tugs her back with a quiet giggle. 

“I only have a shower,” she says. Her eyes dart out everywhere but nowhere all at once, almost shyly. “Maybe we could check out the Prefects’ bathroom again?” 

Hope swallows thickly. Flashes and images of her and Josie—_naked_ Josie—making out in that bathroom a month ago appear in her mind like a private, little show. 

How close she had been then. 

How close she is now. 

The pureblood nods enthusiastically, and from there on, it’s a crazy and rushed dash to the Prefect bathroom several floors down. 

Several times, they stop to press each other against corridor walls and stairway handrails, kissing with lips and tongue and teeth and grabbing clothes and hair and whatever else they can get their hands on. Sometimes they stop just to laugh. Neither of them care that it’s past curfew and that, if they get caught, they’ll get in a lot of trouble, nevermind the chances of their reputations being torn to shreds. 

By the time they reach the floor the bathroom is on, Josie has already undone her ponytail and top. The pureblood takes a second to admire the way her slightly mussed hair trails down her shoulders and hangs in front of her face. She takes another second to admire the way Josie tucks it behind her ear. 

A few inches below her ear is a small hickey sucked into the tanned skin of her neck, and below that is an even bigger one the color and size of a grape. Hope trails her gaze down and all over the rest of Josie’s neck, admiring the love bites she left earlier, too. 

She wants to reach out and run her fingers over them, but at the last second, she pulls away and only allows her hands to twitch limply at her sides. 

As they come to stand in front of the door, Hope shrugs off her sweater carefully and starts to reach for the hem of her shirt. 

Josie herself is trying—correction, _struggling_—to pull down her shorts, which are tied at the waist too firmly for her to unknot. She curses too quietly for Hope to hear and spares a glance at the portrait on the door, which is patiently waiting for the password to allow them to come in. 

“Fizzing whizbees,” the muggleborn all but growls, shorts finally coming undone and falling down to her thighs. She heaves a sigh of relief which is short-lived when the door doesn’t unlock. 

She knocks on the door to check if it might be occupied, but it’s not. “What the hell?” 

Josie repeats the password, but nothing happens. 

Hope’s fingers stop fumbling with her jeans, and she places a hand on the other girl’s back to make room for herself. 

“Maybe you’re not saying it right.” She approaches the door, and with her bossiest, most Mikaelson-like voice, she commands, “Fizzing whizbees.” 

Nothing. 

“Fizzing whizbees.” 

Nothing at all. 

Hope raps her knuckles against the door several times, all but cursing and hurling insults at the man in the portrait that has decided to now play dead for some reason. 

“Hope,” Josie calls softly, placing a delicate hand on Hope’s shoulder to quiet or calm her or something. “There’s nothing we can do. The password changed.” 

The pureblood slams her hand against the door. 

Damn it. 

—

The next morning, Hope wakes up bright and early for her trip to Hogsmeade with her friends. 

And maybe, Josie, if the other girl is up for it. 

Turns out, she isn’t. 

“You’re coming to Hogsmeade, right?” Hope asks as Josie pulls her inside her room and closes the door behind them. She begins to babble a little nervously when she receives no answer. “I thought we could maybe meet up for lunch or something? Actually, I kind of jumped the wand and booked us a reservation—“ 

“Wait. Stop talking before I feel even worse about this,” Josie interrupts, looking so sincerely apologetic that Hope can’t blame her or hate her for it at all. The pureblood closes her mouth, taken aback. “I’m so sorry. I have plans.” 

“You do?” All the same, Hope tries to keep the disappointment out of her voice, tries to keep the crestfallen look off her face. 

In truth, she had been excited for this Hogsmeade trip all week. Excited for the chance to go out on a real date with Josie. 

“Yeah,” Josie murmurs as she thinks about it, a secret smile on her face. Why does she look so happy about not going? Not going with _Hope_? “Honestly, it was the strangest thing. Lizzie completely changed her mind about us. She came and apologized to me earlier. She even asked if we could have a girls’ day. You know, paint our nails, talk about classes, do some sister bonding...”

She trails off, looking so undeniably elated with the idea that Hope feels a smile bloom on her own face. Fuck. She’s so glad that the two made up. She wasn’t sure she could keep up with Josie brooding around all the time this week. She had been trying her best to keep the other girl happy, but without the help of Josie’s twin, it was hard. 

“That’s amazing,” Hope says, and means it. 

Josie pinks, suddenly shy. She looks at Hope beneath her dark lashes, eyes dropping to the floorboards more often than not. “You think so?”

Hope draws her eyebrows together, genuinely puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Oh,” Josie waves her off nonchalantly, but her rambling gives her away. “It’s just everyone I’ve dated in the past always got mad that I would...” 

She searches for the right words. “...Ditch them, or whatever, for Lizzie. They thought that I prioritized her over them too much. That’s actually what ended most of my relationships.” 

“That’s complete and utter bull—“ 

Hope cuts herself off and blinks to appear unaffected. Inside, she is simmering with indignation, teetering at the edge of showing it. She is fucking boiling. _Steaming_. Somewhere between being irrationally jealous that Josie had dated people before her and rightfully furious that they had the nerve to break up with her over something so silly. 

“I mean,” the pureblood corrects herself, shaking her head to dispel the jealous, angry thoughts running rampant. “I’m an only child, but I’m sure if I ever had a sibling, I know that I’d want to spend as much time as I could with them.” 

Josie beams, stepping forward to connect their lips chastely. “You’re so sweet.” 

Hope had literally only said the bare-minimum, but okay. 

The brunette then flits her gaze down to her wristwatch, eyes widening as she checks the time. “Oh!” 

She reaches for her bag on her bed and pecks Hope again, but this time it’s on the cheek. The spot where her mouth touched burns long after her lips are gone, almost as a subtle reminder that Hope is far too in love with Josie for her own good. “Okay, I gotta go before I’m late. I promised her I’d sneak something from the kitchens on my way over. I’ll see you later?” 

“Later,” Hope promises with a short nod of her head, brain not quite caught up, yet. Everything is happening so quickly, and all her fastest thoughts are light years behind. 

Hadn’t she only stepped into the room just a moment ago? 

Josie pauses by the door, poking her head out. It’s only then that Hope realizes that the other girl is leaving her alone. 

“Before I forget,” she says, that same bright smile on her face. “Lizzie wanted me to ask you about your friend Rose.” 

“Yeah?” Huh. What would Elizabeth Saltzman ever want with Rose Nicot? “What about her?” 

“Do you know what shade of nail polish she wears?” Josie asks. 

Hope frowns. How on Earth is she supposed to know that? 

“Oh, _I don’t know_,” she drawls sarcastically, “Pygmy Puff Pink?” 

Josie grins. “Thanks. Bye!” She shuts the door. 

Fuck. 

Hope had been _joking_. 

Hopefully Rose doesn’t get too upset. 

—

“You told her Pygmy Puff Pink?!” Rose all but shrieks as the two of them wander into the Honeydukes’ candy shop at Hogsmeade. 

Hope waits until her friend is done screaming her head off before uncovering her ears. “What’s the big deal?” 

Rose sticks up her hand to show Hope her nails. “_This_ is Butter London. They’re two totally different colors!” 

“Whatever.” Hope leans over to inspect the display for a new type of chocolate frog: seventy-two percent dark chocolate with spiced pumpkin. Hmm. She might have to try them out. 

“Okay, so you can tell the difference between chocolate, but you can’t between colors?” Rose asks, seeming actually annoyed about it. 

Hope rolls her eyes and grabs three of the new chocolate frogs, making her way over to the other side of the store in search of something she had personally never gotten before. 

In search of something for Josie. 

Sugar quills. 

She completely hates them herself, but after the muggleborn admitted that she loved them a few days ago, it’s been on Hope’s mind for far too long. 

“What’s up with you and Blonde Saltzman, anyways?” Hope says, not paying much attention to the conversation. She thinks that she might have spotted some sugar quills’ in the far left corner of the shop. 

“She has a name,” Rose mutters. 

“—Yeah, _Saltzman_—“ 

“And I’ve no idea,” the halfblood continues as if Hope had not spoken. “I think we might be friends or something.” 

“Friends would imply that she likes you,” Hope smirks. The smirk vanishes when she briefly wonders if Rose had been the reason Lizzie apologized to her sister. No. It couldn’t be. “I haven’t seen you talk with her once.” 

“To be fair...” Rose plucks a chocolate cauldron cake from a small bin. “She doesn’t like _anyone_ very much.” 

“True.” 

The pureblood raises her head higher and looks around the store for Ethan and Maya. They had followed her and Rose in here, but both had disappeared rather quickly. 

“Where’s Machado?” Hope narrows her eyebrows. 

“Which one?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” the pureblood supposes. She pushes a first-year that accidentally bumps into her, and only feels a little bit good about it. “They like sugar quills, right? Do you think they’d know where they are? Merlin. It’s so bloody crowded in here.” 

Rose shrugs, but someone else speaks up. 

“Near the chocolate frogs.” It’s the first-year that she had pushed a few seconds ago. 

Now Hope feels completely bad. How is it possible, for her to feel sick to her stomach now, yet years ago she would get nothing but pleasure from bullying others? 

“Thanks,” she tells him, ignoring the fact that he’s wearing a Gryffindor scarf. He smiles and skips off into some random direction, ignoring the fact that he just helped out a Slytherin. Even worse—a Slytherin who is also a Mikaelson. 

Hmm. 

Hope retreats back to the chocolate frog display, finding almost two dozen different flavors of sugar quills not a foot away from it. How had she missed them before? 

“You’re actually going to buy some?” Rose speaks up behind her, obviously surprised. “You _hate_ those.” 

“Do I?” Hope says, a little distractedly, still examining the plentiful array of sugar quills. 

Ugh. Which flavor would Josie prefer? There are so many different ones. 

Hope guesses she’ll just have to buy them all. 

—

When the pureblood finally steps out of the sweet shop, snow is still falling from the sky at almost alarming rates. Her hair becomes littered with small pieces of it in seconds. 

“Where to next?” Rose asks, trying to comb through the snow in her hair as well. Hope doesn’t miss the way the halfblood eyes Ethan as he walks away to the quidditch shop with his sister and Penelope. 

“Do you mind if we stop by Tomes and Scrolls?” Hope stuffs her hands in the pocket of her coat the best she can while carrying a bag of chocolate frogs on one arm and another of sugar quills on the other. “I put in an order earlier this week for a book and I’d like to see if it’s ready yet.” 

Rose nods and they start the short trip to the bookshop, making small talk on their way. 

“So, Ethan?” Hope tries slyly, the tip of her nose red from the weather. Rose laughs and shakes her head. 

For a few seconds, silence drags between them. And then: 

“Do you think I should ask him out?” Rose asks, her cheeks dark with a blush. “Not to the ball, I mean. Just...out.” 

“I think,” Hope says, “that you’d be stupid not to. You should make a move before the semester ends.” 

Rose seems to think about that for another few long seconds. Hope watches her out of the corner of her eye with a frown. She wonders where all this hesitance is coming from. 

“We kissed yesterday,” the halfblood blurts out unexpectedly, wringing her hands together as she comes to a sudden halt. Hope stops walking and fixes her with a look of surprise. 

“For the first time,” Rose adds. “Not like a peck on the cheek. Like, an _actual_ kiss.” 

“Really?” 

Rose nods slowly, as if she can’t quite believe it herself. 

“It wasn’t like we had much of a choice, though,” she says. “We got stuck underneath one of those joke shop mistletoe spells that doesn’t let you move until you kiss the person you’re trapped with.” 

Oh, right. Hope knows exactly what Rose is talking about. Every year, the cursed mistletoe sprigs would be strategically-placed around the halls and classrooms of the school, and like clockwork, every year, Dumbledore would swear to Merlin he had no part in it. 

Josie and her had been avoiding them the entire week. When together, they would purposely train their eyes several feet above them and to the ceiling to make sure they didn’t accidentally stumble upon one. 

“Remember when you had to kiss Dana Lilien last year?” 

Hope scowls, a small shiver crawling up her spine as she recalls that moment. As she recalls Dana thrusting her long-ass tongue down her throat and nearly gagging her. 

“I thought we swore we would never bring that up again,” Hope bites out childishly, features twisted up in disgust. “She practically maimed me in the middle of the great hall and you all laughed at me like it was funny.” 

“It was,” Rose laughs again, which has Hope’s scowl growing even deeper. 

“Oh?” Something sneaky flashes in the pureblood’s eyes. “And did you find it funny when Machado maimed _you_?” 

“He didn’t maim me,” Rose says quickly. A small smile takes over her face as she thinks over her words, but it drops as she seems to think about it harder. “He was...sweet. It was all very innocent.” 

She sounds almost—

No. That’s not right. Yet...

Rose sounds bitter. Like there’s a bad aftertaste in her mouth or something. 

It makes Hope wrinkle her nose. “How boring.” 

The other girl punches her on the shoulder and the two of them laugh as they find cover from the snow in Tomes and Scrolls. The bells on the door tinkle as they walk inside. 

Hope soon sees that the bookstore is warm and a little cramped, but not due to people. Instead, it’s packed with bookshelves and tables. Hope has to watch the space in front of her very carefully as to not bump into one. 

The shopkeep gives her a stiff nod as she walks in, but Hope misses the way his eyes widen upon recognizing her auburn hair. She tells Rose to look around while she talks to him. 

“Miss Mikaelson,” he greets as she approaches him. Hope spares a glance at his name tag, which reads Harold Fitz. 

She almost sighs in relief. Great. This is the man she had been corresponding with through letters in the past few days. 

“Hello,” she says curtly. “I put in an order for The Tales of Beedle the Bard Wednesday morning. I was wondering if—“ 

“Oh, yes!” Harold lightens up. “I had no idea it was you on the other side of the owl! Though, I should have known by your companion. You have such a pretty owl, indeed. You keep his coat of feathers quite pristine, if I do say so—“ 

“So, the book?” she cuts the shopkeep off. Really, she has no time for small talk, and certainly no time for this grown-ass man fangirling over her. Honestly, this is the reason she had signed her letters anonymously. 

“Right,” the man nods, looking embarrassed about his rambling. “Lucky for you, it came in just last night.” 

He turns around and shifts through a couple of packages wrapped in brown gift paper. He tuts, “Uh-uh, here we go...” 

He pulls out a small rectangular box, setting it gently on the desk between them. “An original copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, first edition.” 

He gently tears open the packaging and shows Hope a book bound in leather and encrusted in gems. She flips through the first couple of pages and closes the book, satisfied. 

“Perfect.” She almost smiles. Almost. “How much?” 

“One thousand galleons,” the man says, the tone of his voice even and almost casual. Hope nearly drops open her mouth. 

She hasn’t spent that much in months. Damn it. Her father might notice if a thousand galleons suddenly went missing. Probably not, though. He hadn’t noticed when she spent hundreds on candy over the summer. Still, she needs to pay for the dress she had ordered for the ball at the boutique next door. 

The pureblood’s eyebrows pinch together angrily. Breathing out through her nose, she tries to calm herself down. It won’t be fitting for her to throw a temper tantrum in some musty, old bookshop. Definitely not over some greedy asshole. 

“We agreed on five hundred through our letters,” she tells him. Merlin. She can’t fucking believe she’s getting scammed right now. 

“Yeah, well,” Harold chuckles out, looking nervous. “That was before Hope Mikaelson walked in my door.” 

Hope forces herself to stay calm. She really wants to give this to Josie, and she can’t risk losing the book altogether. “Six hundred.” 

“Eight.” 

“Six.” 

“Eight.” 

“Seven.” 

“Fine.” Harold smiles from ear to ear. The pureblood dearly hopes that he uses some of the money she’s about to give him to buy a potion to fix his rotten teeth. “You have a deal.” 

Rose comes up behind Hope as she pays for the book. 

“The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” she reads out loud, over Hope’s shoulder. “Since when do you like fables?” 

“It’s not for me,” Hope tells her, shoving the packaged book in her bag. She lowers her voice as the door to the shop shuts behind them. The bells tinkle again as if to mock her. 

“It’s for Josie, as a sort of...Christmas present,” she confesses, a secret smirk making its way onto her lips. She can’t wait to give it to the muggleborn. 

“You got her a children’s book?” Rose looks unimpressed. “That’s lame.” 

Hope opens her mouth and closes it several times. Her eyes are wide in panic. Is this not enough to win Josie’s affections? “How? She told me she loves reading.” 

“No _normal_ girl wants a book for Christmas.” Rose rolls her eyes like it’s simple. A silent voice in Hope’s head whispers that Josie is far from normal. “You should get her a necklace or a bracelet. Or something.” 

“Jewelry?” 

Rose nods, before she points at the store in front of them. Dervish and Banges. “Oh!” She nearly squeals in excitement. “I’ve been meaning to go in here.”

Rose holds open the door for Hope. “And, _yes_, jewelry.” 

The pureblood shuts the door behind her. “Isn’t that a little too much? She didn’t react so kindly when I proposed, remember?” 

Rose turns back to look at Hope like she’s stupid. “Proposing and simply giving her a necklace isn’t the same, H.” 

Oh, right. 

Still, Hope is reluctant. She doesn’t want Josie to freak out or anything. 

“I don’t know,” she says, “I don’t want to seem desperate.” 

“Trust me,” Rose tells her. “You’re not—“ 

“No, really,” Hope interjects. She suddenly feels insecure. Scared. What if Josie doesn’t actually love her? “You know, I’ve told her that I love her twice, and she’s only said it back to me _once_. Do you know how humiliating that is?” 

“You’re probably overthinking things,” the halfblood tries to reassure her. Hope shakes her head, in part to deny it and in part to clear her maddening thoughts. 

“Hey,” Rose beckons, holding up a kaleidoscope to her eye. “Do I look cute in this...?” 

“Hello!” A deep voice sounds from behind them, causing both girls to spin around. They calm down when they realize that it’s only the store owner, Marvin. 

“Marvin, you scared us.” Rose places a calming hand on her heaving chest, right over the place where her heart should be. Hope isn’t as affected. She simply frowns at the man. 

“My apologies, girls,” Marvin says. He even bows his head a little. “Can I help you find anything?” 

“Actually,” Rose smiles and sticks her thumb out at Hope. “She’s looking for a necklace. Something elegant but not too showy. Do you think—“

“I have just the thing!” the man cuts in before she can even finish her question, and he scurries off to the back room. 

Hope and Rose raise their eyebrows in amusement and look at each other, but they don’t get to start another conversation before the man appears before them again. 

He dangles an ornate, silver necklace with an oval locket in front of them. It seems not to be much, but when Hope looks closer, she can just barely make out the dark lines engraved into the necklace. 

“Pretty, huh?” The little, golden flecks in Marven’s eyes dance across his irises. “It’s called the Talisman of Sound. It was created by a very powerful witch, who wanted to draw power from those that choose to not remain silent. To reward and empower the bold.” 

Hope scrunches up her face in interest, leaning forward for a better look. “What’s it do?” 

Marvin grins. 

“In one way or another,” he tells her. “It makes quiet things heard.” 

“Oh.” Hope raises her eyebrows suggestively and glances off to Rose, a small smirk on her face. Rose doesn’t seem so pleased. “So, like, in theory, that would include a love confession?” 

The halfblood scoffs and shakes her head in disappointment, while Marvin tilts his own to the side, understandably confused. He relents after a moment and nods reluctantly. 

“In theory.” 

—

Hope ends up giving Josie the necklace a day before the ball. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon and they’re out on the Great Lake, sitting down on a couple of rocks. Hope’s broom is strewn across the sand a couple of feet away, with both their robes in a pile next to it. 

The only real reason they’re relaxing like this is because the pair just finished their last finals of the semester. Dumbledore had decided to cancel classes on Friday—the day of the ball—to give the students more time to prepare for their families coming. 

For Hope, that means more time to stress over seeing her father. This entire week she’s been an absolute wreck. She’s been jittery, on edge, shaking in her skin. She hasn’t even been able to enjoy her time with Josie. 

Well, that’s not completely right. 

Of course, she _always_ enjoys her time with Josie. When she’s around the other girl, she doesn’t feel like she has to worry herself sick. Cliched or not, she feels like she can just be. 

Like she can be herself without Josie judging her for it, but at the same time, she always feels the undeniable need to impress Josie and win her over. Especially during their dancing lessons, which have been going pretty well. 

Josie no longer steps on Hope’s feet, unless it’s on purpose just to mess with her. The muggleborn is a fast learner, and now, more often than not, it’s Hope messing up instead of Josie. 

_ “Hope.” Josie steps backwards and takes Hope with her, and then they step off together to the right. As they take their fourth step, the pureblood drops her right arm and spins Josie towards her left.  _

_ “Yeah?” Hope murmurs, not really paying attention. Her eyes are half-closed and drooping slightly, heavy-lidded in a combination of peaceful bliss and exhaustion. They’ve been at this for a couple of hours, now.  _

_ Josie leans forward as they begin the count again, not out loud, but in their own heads. Her lips brush against Hope’s ear, a lilting note to her voice. Playful. “Does Raichter get to touch me like this?”  _

_ Hope drops her gaze down in search of what Josie is talking about— _

_ Her right hand is not where it’s traditionally supposed to be on Josie’s waist, but a couple of inches down to her ass. Hope smoothly lifts her hand back up without batting an eye.  _

_ The rest of her isn’t quite so smooth, and the skin of her cheeks grows flushed just enough for Josie to catch it.  _

_ “No,” she answers, fighting down the blush trying to take over her entire face. One. Two. Three. Turn. “Only I get to touch you like this.”  _

_ This time, when Josie spins back to her, the other girl drops her hand from Hope’s and cups her jaw to seal their lips together in a soft kiss.  _

_ The kiss turns heated within half a minute and ends with Hope pushing Josie up against the poor piano and latching her lips onto the other girl’s throat, intertwining both of their hands and pressing those against the piano, too.  _

“How do you think you did on the Defense exam?” 

Hope snaps out of her thoughts, trapping her eyes onto Josie, who is sitting up from her rock and flinging off her grey vest. It hits the snow-covered sand silently. 

“Sorry?” 

Josie repeats her question. This time the words actually register in Hope’s mind. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, watching Josie shimmy out of her skirt with her back facing the pureblood. Hope wonders what the fuck she’s doing. It’s _freezing_ outside. Why is she undressing like this? “Which one?” 

Josie turns back to her, just as her skirt falls down her long legs, leaving them bare. Her white uniform shirt is long enough to cover the highest points of her thighs, so Hope can’t really see anything even if she was looking. 

That is to say, she isn’t looking. Totally. Not. Looking. 

“Hmm,” Josie hums, thinking about it. Finally, she cocks her head to the side. “Both?” 

“I think I did well on the writing part,” Hope says. Who is she kidding? The writing part had been incredibly easy. It’s the practical part that Hope thinks went very wrong. “I’m pretty sure I failed the practical. I couldn’t conjure a patronus.” 

Josie gives her a sad smile. It makes the pureblood feel even worse. She’s the happiest she’s been in months, yet she still isn’t happy enough to conjure a patronus? She had been thinking about her best, cherished memories with Josie the entire exam, and still. Still she couldn’t fucking do it.

The muggleborn must think she’s a loser. Damn it. Hope knows that half of Gryffindor had been able to do the spell. 

_Gryffindors_. 

Those brazen idiots. 

The exam rooms had been private, but Hope is pretty sure that she had seen Milton Greasley’s patronus, and she is pretty sure it had been either a butterfly or a bat. 

She had also caught a glimpse of Rafael Waithe’s, whose patronus was either a black bear or some hairy kind of rhinoceros. The angle hadn’t been completely right on that one. 

Merlin. Hope is a fucking _joke_. 

“I doubt Snape would fail you because of that,” Josie tells her. It makes her feel a little better about it. “Besides, you’re his favorite. Now, get up.” 

The muggleborn ushers her closer with a pointed look at the Great Lake. Hope absentmindedly thinks that it’s a miracle the poor thing hasn’t frozen over yet. 

“What are you doing?” Hope calls after her, still sitting down on her rock. She watches Josie tiptoe around the snow and sand as she approaches the water. She dips a foot in and squeals at how cold it is. 

“Swimming! Care to join me?” Josie calls back, giggling. Hope looks at her like she’s crazy. Who swims during this kind of weather? 

Obviously, someone that’s gone utterly and completely mad. For Salazar’s sake, they’re well into December, now. If Josie wants to go for a swim, there’s a high chance that she’ll die of hypothermia or something. 

“You do know that this lake is the drain for our school’s plumbing system, right?” Hope yells, loudly enough for Josie to hear a couple of feet away. She chuckles as the muggleborn squeaks again and instantly moves out of the water. 

Hope watches Josie come back to her with a smile, which grows wider as the other girl bends down and puts both her own and Hope’s robe on and snuggles into them for warmth. 

She continues to laugh when Josie makes the decision to practically throw herself in Hope’s lap, rubbing her wet hands into Hope’s hair and all over her clothes to dry them off. 

Hope sighs, sits back, and lets it happen. 

Nothing quite compares to the gentle weight of Josie on top of her, to the gentle weight of Josie in her lap. 

“You’re mean,” the brunette tells her, wearing that same, old pout that never truly gets old. “And gross, but most importantly, _mean_.” 

“Come on.” Hope bats her hands away and grins. “You love me.” 

“I _tolerate_ you,” Josie corrects, but she’s grinning, too. 

Despite trying not to, Hope’s own smile dims somewhat. She had been hoping Josie would say that she loves the pureblood back. They haven’t said those three words for about two weeks—and it shouldn’t be a big deal, certainly not to _Hope_, but a deep part of her that would never admit it out loud craves the reassurance. 

Hope’s thoughts quickly go back to the talisman she had bought. The one that supposedly makes quiet things heard. Rose had gotten mad at her for actually purchasing it, saying that it was manipulative or too Slytherin-ish or something equally bad. 

Though, the pureblood figures that that bastard Marvin had probably been lying to her about the necklace just to sell it off and make a profit. 

Since then, Hope’s been carrying it around with her for a couple of days, but she hasn’t quite found the right moment to give it to Josie. 

It’s actually in the pocket of Hope’s robe right now. The robe that Josie’s wearing. Right now. Maybe right now would be a good time to give it to her. Maybe, if Hope gives the necklace to her right now, Josie might wear it to the ball. 

_ Right now.  _

“Hey,” Hope says suddenly, voice a little rough and huskier than it probably should be. If Josie asks, she can blame it on the cold. Despite the fact that Hope had performed a warming spell on both of them when they got outside. Whatever. It’s wearing off. “Check your left pocket.” 

Josie tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes in suspicion, but the pureblood can tell that she looks a little excited. She snakes her hand down the robe and to the left pocket, fingers wrapping around the small, black pouch that Hope knows is in there. 

She pulls it out and looks at Hope curiously, but Hope just shrugs with an innocent smile on her face. 

“What is it?” Josie asks. Maybe she doesn’t like surprises. 

“I don’t know,” Hope tells her, choking down a laugh when the muggleborn glares at her. Her fingers start to tug at the drawstrings and she opens the bag, allowing the necklace to fall into her open palm. 

She stares at it for a long moment before snapping her eyes to the pureblood’s. 

“Hope.” Her voice sounds dangerously thick with emotion. It makes a knotted lump form in Hope’s throat. She watches Josie play with the necklace between her fingers, looking so touched and happy that Hope herself has to glance away for fear her heart might stop beating. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, softly, eyes trained on her lap. Without meaning to, her fingers begin to gently stroke the hem of Josie’s skirt. She plays with the fabric almost absentmindedly, willing her tired lungs to pull in air lest she stop breathing, too. 

A hand tilts her chin up, forcing her to look into the other girl’s eyes. 

“I love it,” Josie says, and then in a smaller voice, she adds, “I love _you_.” 

Hope gulps messily and nods, feeling a burst of emotion like relief grow tight in her chest and crawl up her throat. Her words aren’t exactly her own when she whispers back, “I love you, too.”

Josie parts her lips and lets out a shaky breath that fogs in the air. Hope watches it disappear into the sky. “Help me put it on?” 

Hope nods more quickly than the first time and gestures for Josie to turn around. The brunette scrambles off of her lap and stands up, holding her hair away from her neck in one hand and passing Hope the necklace in the other. 

Her fingers are suddenly clumsy and she fumbles with the clasp. Hope swears she can hear her heart pounding in her ears. Why does her face feel so hot? Like—like someone has just peeled off the first layer of her skin and has left her raw and exposed for all the world to see. 

“Hope?” 

“Sorry.” 

Right. It’s unnecessary, to linger as long as she is. It’s unnecessary, to think about leaning up and pressing her lips to the soft skin waiting for her. 

Hope manages to still her fingers enough to fasten the clasp together. If she accidentally brushes the skin of Josie’s nape, neither of them say a word passed the muggleborn’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs, so lowly that Hope doesn’t know if she actually heard it. She searches for something to say. 

“It’s not just a necklace,” she admits, then chickens out when Josie turns around again and meets her eyes. She sits down next to Hope, who bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from asking Josie to sit back down on her lap instead. 

“I mean, I made it into a Portkey,” she ends up telling Josie instead. “I did a linking spell on my ring...” 

She twists the family ring around her finger nervously in emphasis. 

“So you just have to say the word ‘portus’ while holding it, and it’ll teleport us both to a location I picked out.” She won’t tell Josie yet that the location she picked out is the muggleborn’s hometown of Mystic Falls. “I thought it’d be a good way to meet over the break, but—“ 

Josie kisses her soundly on the lips before she can finish her sentence and tell the muggleborn not to say the word on accident. She suddenly finds that it doesn’t matter as Josie’s chest molds perfectly against her own while their lips continue to slide against each other’s softly. 

Hope even shifts her head to the side to deepen the kiss but Josie pulls away before that can happen. Hope tries to chase after her with her mouth but the other girl seems not to notice and just looks down to her chest and plays with her necklace, blissfully unaware. 

Seeing that Josie isn’t going to kiss her anymore, Hope decides to keep talking. 

“I, uh, actually got you something else,” she adds, but she doesn’t have time to explain herself. 

“Wait.” Josie puts her hands in Hope’s, leaning forward. “Me first.” 

The pureblood furrows her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Josie laughs. “I got you something, too. I just didn’t think to bring it with me. Close your eyes.”

Then Josie turns away and mutters something underneath her breath. 

“Accio—“ 

Hope doesn’t hear what comes after that, but she closes her eyes and takes the time to summon the book she had bought for Josie at Tomes and Scrolls. It comes flying over more quickly than whatever Josie had summoned, so Hope gets to hide it behind her back before the other girl notices. 

“Okay, you can open them.” Hope doesn’t mention that she had never closed her eyes to begin with. 

Josie turns back to her and she can’t help feeling a little apprehensive as the brunette sticks her hands out with two neatly-wrapped box in them.

The wrapping paper has little dogs on them. Hope thinks she might be able to recognize the same, tiny pug wearing a hundred different costumes. She wonders why Josie wanted her to close her eyes if the gifts aren’t even visible. 

Hope takes the first box and feels a little bad when she rips the wrapping paper into shreds. Poor pugs. 

She instantly stares down at what appears to be a pack of long sticks. Um. 

“I noticed that you’re always doodling in class,” Josie explains. “These are muggle pencils. They’re much better for drawing than quills. I also got you some different colors.” 

She points at another pack next to it, which are the colored pencils. Hope’s heart blooms. She had always loved drawing, but she never really got a good chance to explore it. 

Her father had introduced her to painting, but drawing was something different altogether, in her opinion. 

“They won’t show up well on parchment paper, so...” Josie continues, motioning for Hope to open the other box. She does, unwrapping what appears to be a stack of white sheets. “I also got you muggle paper. It’s thinner and easier to write on.” 

Hope blinks fast to hide the way her eyes water. She had never thought Josie paid so much attention to her. She licks her lips when she realizes that the other girl is looking at her expectantly. 

“I don’t know what to say,” she confesses, looking down at the pencils and paper. They seem to be very high-quality. Josie must have spent a fortune. “Thank you. I’ll cherish them for as long as I live and until my last dying—“ 

“No, stop,” Josie cuts her off, giggling. Obviously this isn’t as big a deal to her as it is to Hope. She should really catch up on all things muggle. “They’re pencils, not gold. They don’t last forever. But, here, I have something else for you...” 

She reaches behind her and places a plush, small dragon between them. “It’s a stuffed animal. The other day when we were, um...” 

_Making out in your room_, goes unsaid. 

Usually they do it in Josie’s, but the other girl had wanted to see a normal Slytherin dormitory when Hope had teased her about having a room to herself. One thing led to another and then suddenly one moment they were sneaking into Hope’s room with a disillusionment charm and then kissing underneath the covers the next...

“Nevermind.” Josie blushes darkly. “I saw that you don’t have any for your bed.”

Hope grabs the dragon and weighs it in her hand. It’s quite light, and its scales are somehow soft. The spikes on its back are little balls of fluff. She resists the urge to rub the dragon all over her face. 

“I charmed him to fly,” the other girl says, a slight, rosy flush still painting her cheeks. “Just yank the tail.” 

Hope does as told and the tiny dragon suddenly becomes animated, flapping its wings into the air and flying around the two of them. Just when Hope shivers from the lingering cold, the dragon roars open its mouth and sends a burst of flames her way. 

Josie points at Hope and laughs. 

Merlin. The muggleborn and the dragon are both so fucking cute. 

The two watch the dragon for a few minutes before Hope musters the courage to give Josie the book she had been keeping hidden behind her. 

“Remember a couple of weeks ago when we were talking about our favorite things in your room?” she asks, a little out of nowhere, but the other girl doesn’t seem to mind. It takes a second, but she nods. 

“And you said that your favorite book was The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” she continues, getting another confused nod. Josie is probably wondering what this has to do with anything. “But you said you lost your copy so you haven’t been able to read it in a while?” 

“You remember that?” Josie seems surprised. It almost offends Hope. 

“Of course,” she breathes, her hand running down the leather of the book’s spine with shaking fingers. She inhales deeply before revealing the book and presenting it to Josie.

Josie takes it reluctantly, looking down at the cover with wide eyes and blown pupils. She glances back up to Hope, lips parted. “For me?” 

Hope nods. The muggleborn gasps almost silently as she flips through the pages. 

“A first edition?” Josie shakes her head and tries to hand the book back to Hope. Hope doesn’t take it. “These cost upwards of hundreds. This is too much. I can’t possibly take it.” 

“Please?” 

Josie swallows thickly, but Hope can see the way her eyes keep darting down to the book with excitement. She wonders if the other girl would read it to Hope later tonight in bed if she asked. 

“Okay,” Josie relents, smiling. Hope fights down a laugh. That certainly had _not_ taken much convincing.

—

“Skirt or pants?” Hope holds up the two pieces of clothing, the skin of her face slightly flushed and the palms of her hands sweaty. 

It’s not an hour until her parents are set to arrive at Hogwarts, but the pureblood is only a minute away from passing out and dying on the floor of her dorm room. 

“Skirt,” Maya tells her, from where she’s laying down on her bed without a care. “But wear the grey high socks so they don’t think you’ve become a prostitute in the five months since you’ve last seen them.” 

Hope nods without truly hearing anything past the first word, flattening out the skirt with a cleaning charm and carefully pulling it over her hips. 

A couple of nights ago, Dumbledore had informed the entire school that their families would arrive a couple of hours before the ball so that they had time to get settled in and be introduced to friends and classmates. This way, he had said, the students could give their families a tour of the castle if it was the first time they had ever been here. 

The headmaster had also noted that he wanted everyone in their most pristine uniforms upon their arrival, as to make a good impression for the school and for the families alike. 

“How are you not nervous?” Hope asks, wiping her palms on her skirt. This is a mistake that she instantly regrets, since the fabric of her skirt now has ten distinct, wet fingerprints on it. She lets out a sigh and delves back into her dresser to find a new skirt. 

“I am,” Maya says, easily. “I’m just doing a better job of hiding it. Now—“ 

She sits up, running a lazy hand through her hair that is now tangled since she had been resting her head on a pillow for the last half hour. 

“Will you just relax?” She smirks as she stands up. “Or at least, _pretend_ to?” 

Hope nods and lays down next to Maya, if only to relax for just a moment. She sinks into the sheets underneath her, but can’t quite get comfortable enough to enjoy it. 

Now is definitely not the time to relax. Every bone and muscle in Hope’s body seems to echo that sentiment. 

The two stand up after a few minutes, spending the rest of the hour getting ready and perfecting their hair and make-up. With each passing second, Hope feels the nerves underneath her skin prickle and heat up. It feels a bit like she has a hot, coiled wire running through her blood stream. 

While she might be ready on the outside, she is definitely not ready to see her parents on the _inside_. She can barely fathom her reaction when she finally _does_ see them. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. However she reacts, she’ll just have to school her features to hide it. 

Yet, after a long time of forgoing her expressionless mask with Josie and Rose, Hope now has to actively practice it in the mirror in order to live up to the high standards of her parents when the time comes. She spends at least ten minutes locked in the bathroom before Maya forces her way in. 

Then, the two meet up with Rose and Penelope in the common room, finding Ryan, Jo, and Ethan waiting for them just outside. They walk down together to Hogwarts’ main entrance, the gate to the castle. 

When they get there, they find that most students are already gathered together. It seems that everyone wants to make a good impression, since Hope can’t see a single person that has a wrinkle in their robes or even a frayed thread in their socks. 

She can definitely see some sweat stains, though. The Hufflepuff boy that Hope can remember helping Landon the other day has a large damp spot all over his back. Landon is standing next to him with a similar stain all over his collar. She herself had placed a cooling charm on her group of friends so that wouldn’t happen. 

While some students look like Hope—dreading this day and wanting nothing more than to leave and hide in her room—most of them look quite excited. 

Stefan and Damon Salvatore’s kids are all huddled together in a group, nearly bubbling over in happiness at the prospect of seeing their families. Hope wrinkles her nose in distaste as she passes them. 

“Hey, look,” Rose says at one point, gesturing discreetly to three people a few feet away.“Your girlfriend and her sister are talking to Dumbledore.” 

Hope stands up on her tippy-toes to catch a glimpse of Josie over the large crowd, but she doesn’t quite see anything but the back of her head. Rose and her share a meaningful look and start to make their way over, with Penelope and Maya trailing behind them. 

They get close enough to eavesdrop. _Close enough_ that they have to pretend to be in a conversation with one another so that they don’t get caught. 

“I’d be happy to hear out your proposal,” Dumbledore tells the twins, eyes twinkling. “But, please, make it short. Your parents are set to arrive any moment now. I would hate to intrude on your time with them.” 

“Well,” Elizabeth starts, glancing off at her sister. They both giggle like first-years. “We would first like to say that we appreciate your efforts with the mandatory dress code on Fridays, but we were thinking that students should be given a chance to express themselves on the other days of the week.” 

She gives Josie a pointed look to continue their little proposal. The brunette blushes. “Right. While school uniforms can create a sense of unity and reduce socioeconomic pressures, there are a number of disadvantages that they present.” 

“Are they crazy?” Rose whispers to Hope. The pureblood shrugs. 

“For example,” Elizabeth picks up, “it restricts the potential of showing diversity in classrooms. Many people rely on expressing their culture and style through clothing, which can’t happen with a school uniform. It also forces everyone into one group instead of looking at each student individually.” 

Dumbledore hums. “You girls make a good point. Though, I’m not sure any of this lies in my jurisdiction or power as Headmaster. What would you like me to do?” 

Both twins look at each other and smile. 

“We understand that it might be sort of radical to eliminate the uniform altogether,” Josie cuts in, “but we do think that it wouldn’t be so extreme or far-out as to at least provide some variety. Wearing the same skirt and robe everyday isn’t very tolerant.” 

“Or stylish,” Elizabeth puts in. Josie nods. 

“Basically,” Josie finishes, “we would like your permission to modify the uniform.” 

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but the gate to Hogwarts swings open before he can reply to the sisters. He turns his body away from them, appearing almost relieved at the interruption. 

Both Elizabeth and Josie pout like hurt children but don’t try to add anything, causing Hope and Rose to snicker loudly enough for Penelope to ask them why they’re laughing. 

“Oh, just a funny joke,” Rose waves her off, still chuckling each time her eyes meet Hope’s. 

“What joke?” Maya perks up, but Penelope swats her in the throat and she starts choking. 

“Wait,” she says, eyes wide as she keeps hitting Maya to get her attention, almost completely unaware that she’s doing it. “I think I see my father.” 

Maya finally looks over and makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “I think I see mine, too.” 

At that, the four of them sober up, and Hope and Rose sharply stop laughing, turning their heads to look at the crowd of adults passing through the gate and reuniting with their children. 

The pureblood is vaguely aware of Elena Salvatore kissing the cheeks of her two children in greeting nearby, but all the world around her seems to stop dead as her eyes fall on Klaus Mikaelson appearing in the entrance. 

Hope’s heart sinks to her stomach. She’s so fucking afraid. Afraid that her father will simply look at her and know about her affair with Josie. Afraid that she might simply glance in the muggleborn’s direction and her father will be able to tell that she’s a filthy blood traitor.   
  
  


So. Damn. Afraid. 

Even now, hours before the actual ball, her father’s dress robes are immaculate and pristine. Although his suit is more casual than formal, he wears it as if he’s in the company of the Minister of Magic. 

He seems to come to a stop in the middle of the entrance, uncaring that he’s blocking the people around him, his eyes roaming the entrance in search of someone. 

Hope dreads to think that someone is her, yet all the same, she can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop willing him to meet her eyes, no matter how much the thoughts in her head are begging her to stop. 

It’s too late. 

Nothing can quite describe the feeling of her father’s gaze stopping onto hers. If Hope would try to, she might say it’s like the vice grip of a thousand snakes squeezing around her neck. 

The pureblood suddenly feels suffocated and sucks in a ragged breath, running her tongue along her teeth. She almost swears she can taste copper like crimson. 

As if sensing blood like a shark in the water, Klaus smiles widely, the sparkle of the glowing Christmas decorations around them glinting off the whites of his teeth and the marble of his family ring. 

Hope hadn’t noticed before, but her mother hangs on his arm. Her mother, Hayley Mikaelson, who is also looking at her. She smiles at her daughter just like her husband, but her lips have never been so forgiving as to stretch without care. 

Not even for her daughter. 

Instead, a single twitch at both corners of her mouth is all Hope gets. No teeth, no mercy. But the ring is the same. Hayley’s large, diamond ring—a family heirloom, for sure—glimmers brighter than any holiday light in the room. 

Her father beckons Hope forward with his hand, but she moves not. He narrows his eyes at her but his smile doesn’t dim, and he silently asks her to come over once more. 

She moves her chin down a single centimeter in a nod. This time, she only gets a couple of steps in before she freezes a few feet in front of him, heart pounding in her stomach and causing acid to rise up her throat. It stings like the Cruciatus Curse, and she almost looks away. 

But she can’t. That would be showing weakness.

When Klaus finally realizes that she isn’t going to come easily, he parts his lips and speaks directly at her. His words are showy and loud, enough for the few people around them to turn their heads and get a good look at a Mikaelson family reunion. 

“Come, now, _Hope_.” Her father narrows his eyes even more, a flicker of something between irritation and amusement at the corner of his lips, tilting his head to motion to the woman by his side. “Aren’t you going to give your mother a hug?” 

Hayley stands flawless and pale, much like the perfect delicacy of a white rose. Hope briefly imagines that the smallest breeze might make the woman fall over and wither.

Hope still doesn’t move. She feels stricken to her spot, like wet cement had been poured over her ankles and had dried before she could take another step. Fuck. Why isn’t she moving? 

Her father doesn’t seem to like it either. 

Klaus lowers his voice, so only she can hear. The dangerous smirk on his lips makes her blood run cold. 

“Or has the Mikaelson name not shouldered shame enough?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably say that there won’t be any explicit sexual content in this story, just references. i’ve mentioned several times that the girls are 16 and underage, and i don’t know who this audience is or if anyone would be comfortably reading that
> 
> thanks for sticking with me :) i’ll probably update my love potion fic before coming back to this one


	51. Chapter 51

_ Hope stands outside the familiar entrance of the vintage antique store she had visited many times before. Her father had instructed her to wander around London while he took care of some things at the Ministry, so that is exactly what she’s doing.  _

_ Exactly what she  _ has _ been doing every day of the summer so far. Or rather, what’s left of it. _

_ School is scheduled to start in just a couple of days, and she finally wants to purchase the ancient wristwatch she had been eyeing for quite a while now.  _

_ It sits in the display window, simple but elegant. Hope stares at it now, a pleased smile playing at her lips as she examines the thin, leather band binding the silver-colored case together. To anyone else, it probably wouldn’t have been eye-catching in any way whatsoever, if not for the gold tone of the hour and minute hands within the dial. They tick forward on beat after beat, and Hope almost swears she can hear it though the glass.  _

_ Without another moment’s hesitation, she opens the door of the shop and shuffles inside, shoulders visibly relaxing at the homey, old scent to the room.  _

_ “Hope!” An old, deep voice beckons her from the front counter, and a smile breaks out across her face, unbidden.  _

_ “Otto,” she returns, a little less enthusiastically, with an indulgent nod of her head. She has a reputation to maintain, after all. Not that Otto cares about that, though. In all the times they’ve talked, he’s never once mentioned her family like other witches and wizards tend to do.  _

_ “I’ve been waiting for you all morning,” the old man admits with a  _ tsk _ , and Hope smiles as he comes into view. His white hair looks just as dashing as ever, his eyes bright despite his age. “I was beginning to think you’d never come at all.”  _

_ “Sorry.” Hope grins, sheepish, doing away with her cool mask. She can never seem to hide her emotions next to Otto. There goes her reputation. “I had a late breakfast.”  _

_ “Oh, not to worry, not to worry,” Otto is quick to tell her, moving into the back room and disappearing from view. He reappears with a framed canvas in his hand, but the painting itself is covered by some sort of parchment. “This just arrived last night, I thought you might like to help me decide where to hang it. You’ve always had an eye for that sort of stuff.”  _

_ He looks at her with a twinkle hidden inside his blue eyes, pausing for dramatic effect. Then, he rips off the paper and reveals an oil painting beneath it.  _

_ The faint image of a couple stands in the middle, but they’re not facing Hope. Instead, she can only see their backs and clothes. The pair are overlooking a dark lake of sorts, sitting on top of a single jagged boulder. The sun is peeking at the horizon, but not quite enough that it brings any light to the painting. In fact, the painting itself is mixed with dark blues and blacks and greys, giving it a somber tone. Hope stares at it, chest growing tight. She wonders what the artist had in mind. Who they were trying to bring to life. Or rather, who they loved that died.  _

_ When she turns back to Otto, she finds that the man is already looking at her for her reaction.  _

“_What do you think?” he asks, with a raise of his bushy eyebrows. _

_ “I think...” she starts slowly, glancing off to the painting again. There’s a tree on the left she never noticed before. “I think it should be the first thing people see when they walk through the door.”  _

_ Otto gives her a bright smile in return and she helps him hang it in the right spot, not mentioning the fact that he doesn’t opt to use magic. As the man turns away from her, Hope glances back to the painting. _

“_Who are you?” she tries to ask the two figures inside it, but they don’t move. Hmm. That’s weird. Every painting she’s ever seen in her life has been able to move. But then again, every one Otto has ever shown her before has not. _

_ She spends the next ten minutes trying to talk to the couple, but they don’t respond. Soon, Otto calls her back to the front of the store and they chat for the next hour or so about inconsequential things that don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Hope adores it anyway.  _

“_You’re lingering,” Otto notes at one point, as he polishes an old piece of furniture. Hope sits on top of the aforementioned furniture, simply relaxing. She probably shouldn’t be. _

_ “What do you mean?” she asks.  _

_ “You usually only visit me for about half an hour before you run off,” the old man says. “Just enough to make a little more than small talk, but not enough to have a meaningful conversation. Yet, today, you’ve already been here an hour so far, with no mention or intention of leaving.”  _

_ Hope frowns, just a little. Her voice comes out rougher than she means it. “What’s your point?”  _

_ Does he not want her here? She had thought she was welcome, as Otto had told her so many times before. The first time they met, he had practically begged her to come back again.  _

_ “You’re lingering,” is all Otto says, with a slight glint in his eyes. “Why?”  _

“_Um.” Hope bites the inside of her cheek. The reason she’s stayed this long is because she doesn’t want to leave without the watch, but she also doesn’t want to have to admit that out loud. _

_ Otto arches another eyebrow at her, gaze open and understanding.  _

_ “Actually,” she confesses, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She hopes he doesn’t think she’s here for the watch, and not his company. “I wanted to purchase a wristwatch of yours. You know, the one in the window?”  _

“_Ah,” Otto hums, seeming to understand very quickly. “No need to clarify, darling. I only have two watches in this entire store.” _

_ He shoots her a sly grin. “I’m wearing the other one.” _

_ She laughs while he retreats to the window display to get the watch, getting out her own bag for some money to pay for it.  _

_ She’s taking out a couple of galleons when Otto appears on the other side of the counter with the watch.  _

“_Debit or credit?” he asks, placing the watch in a small box as he stands in front of a wooden board. Hope does a double-take, not thinking she heard him correctly. Her fingers still in her bag. _

_ “Excuse me?”  _

_ Otto drops his eyes from the watch and looks at the galleons in her hand. His brows shoot up to his hairline. It looks like he’s curious and confused all at once.  _

“_What are those? Russian coins?” He sends another pointed look at the galleons. Now it’s time for Hope to raise her own eyebrows. Is the man joking or just kidding? _

_ “Galleons,” she answers plainly, a deep frown etched onto her face. Otto must be playing with her. Yet, his face is serious, not an inch of amusement or humor written in the wrinkled skin of his eyes.  _

_ “Galle-what now?”  _

_ Hope sighs. Why is he pretending not to know what galleons are? She almost takes out some sickles and knuts to jog the man’s memory, but she figures his forgetfulness might just be old age.  _

_ “Sorry, Hope,” he continues, when she doesn’t give him an answer other than a tired, frustrated look. “We don’t accept that kind of money here.” _

_ The pureblood’s face burns red.  _

“_You don’t accept galleons?” Her words are slow for want of a slow—or _no_—answer. She can’t recall a time someone has ever not accepted a Mikaelson’s money. It can’t start with her. She won’t let it. That would be too much, she thinks. _

_ Otto laughs.  _

_ “Here you are making up words again,” he chuckles out with a fond smile, “I can never seem to pick up your young generation’s slang. You’ll have to teach me some day.”  _

_ What the fuck is he talking about? Hope had noticed that sometimes he wouldn’t recognize the words she used in the past, but nothing like this before.  _

_ And, damn it. It really doesn’t look like Otto is going to take her money. How can he think it’s fake?  _

_ “How else am I supposed to pay?” she asks, sticking her nose in the air a little haughtily.  _

_ “Um...” Otto trails off, looking even more confused. “With pounds?”  _

_ Hope smiles, just a hint at the corners of her lips. Maybe she won’t have to get embarrassed after all. Great. “I weigh about a hundred and ten. Maybe fifteen. Is that enough?”  _

_ Otto looks at her like she’s crazy. “No,” he says, but she takes it the wrong way, thinking he means that she doesn’t have enough.  _

_ “I...okay.” Hope looks at her hands in disappointment. Maybe she will be the first Mikaleson not rich enough to buy something she wants. She takes a step back away from Otto, a sad frown on her face. “I guess I won’t be able to buy the watch after all. I don’t have the kind of money you’re referring to.”  _

“_Hmm.” Otto suppresses a secret smile. “I have a different idea.” _

_ “You do?”  _

_ He nods, jerking his head pointedly to the watch with a small smirk. “Put it on.”  _

_ Hope’s frown deepens. Not only can she not buy it, but he’s going to make her feel bad for it, too?  _

“_Why?” she asks. _

_ Otto simply gestures to the watch. “Just do it.”  _

_ Hope glances at him curiously before grabbing the watch and strapping it to the small width of her wrist. It fits perfectly, and she can’t help but think that the watch looks quite nice there.  _

_ She sends Otto another weird look. “What now?”  _

_ The old man smiles. “Now,” he says, “it’s yours.”  _

_ “What?” Hope drops her mouth open, unexpectedly surprised. She reaches for the buckle of the watch. “But I don’t have—“  _

_ “A present from me to you,” Otto cuts her off, patting her arm to stop her from taking the watch off. A part of the pureblood is mortified at taking a present simply because she can’t buy it herself. It seems an awful lot like pity. Or worse, charity. Neither of which a person in her social standing can allow. “Accept it. You know you want to. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”  _

_ Hope shakes her head. With a straight face, she says, “No, actually. Mikaelsons don’t accept charity.”  _

_ Otto laughs like that means nothing to him. And maybe, it does. Maybe he truly doesn’t know what galleons are, maybe he doesn’t know who she is, maybe he’s a— _

_ No. She can’t think that. She won’t.  _

“_This isn’t charity.” Otto laughs again, a sound like music. It’s cut short by the bell above the store’s door ringing. Hope turns around and immediately catches a glimpse of her father, standing rigid at the entrance and almost foaming at the mouth. _

_ “Hope,” he hisses, looking downright furious, as if he doesn’t want to be anywhere near here. He hasn’t even taken a single foot inside the shop.  _

_ Hope swallows hard and stays frozen to her spot. When she doesn’t move, Klaus calls her name again. “Hope!”  _

_ That gets her moving pretty quickly. _

_ “Sorry.” She barely turns around to give Otto one last look in her haste. Later, she’ll think back to this moment and regret it. “I have to go.”  _

_ “What are you doing?” Klaus lowers his voice to an even harsher whisper, grabbing her shoulder roughly and all but hauling her ass out of the store.  _

_ Hope has no idea why.  _

“_Father,” she breathes, almost stammering over her words, “what do you mean?” _

_ Everything is happening too fast. She doesn’t understand what’s wrong at all. She can barely pull air into her lungs as her father tugs her behind him, shoes pounding into the sidewalk like he’s in a hurry or something.  _

_ “Why are you associating yourself with scum like him?” His teeth clench together. “If I ever catch you dallying about and mingling with mud again, I swear to—“  _

“_What are you talking about?” Hope interrupts him, which isn’t the smartest thing to do with him this close to her, this upset. His grip on her tightens, and she has to grit her teeth to distract from the pain. _

_ “You’re telling me you don’t know? I didn’t raise an idiot. That man is a filthy muggle,” Klaus bites out, eyes blazing. “Take a look around, love, they all are.”  _

_ His eyes trace their surroundings, causing Hope to turn her head both ways to observe the regular people and vendors on the street. Her jaw nearly drops. They’re all muggles?  _

_ Then how could they have produced such beautiful art? Such beautiful shops and works? She had spent the past three months familiarizing herself with this wonderful area after her father had dropped her off outside the Ministry the first day.  _

_ “What if it had been someone else that caught you?” Klaus continues. Hope can almost see the steam rising from his lips and ears. “What if a reporter had walked in and seen you? Are you trying to disgrace our entire family?”  _

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He looked normal,” Hope sputters, “I-I didn’t realize. I didn’t—“  _

_ Perhaps she had realized. Perhaps she had always known, but just had never cared. Had never wanted to admit it to herself, because then she would have to feel bad about it.  _

_ “You didn’t realize?” Her father throws her words back into her face. “You should be able to smell those vermin out as quickly as you can identify the back of your hand.”  _

_“Vermin?” Hope’s face twists. Otto is not vermin. He’s a human. Just like her. “But he was so nice to me. He gave me this for free...“_

_ Hope stops herself short, dropping her hand from where it had been reaching to her wrist to show her father the watch. If he sees it, he might take it away from her.  _

_ “Nevermind,” she mumbles, but it’s too late. Klaus had already heard her, and he hadn’t miss a word.  _

_ “Gave you what?” he snaps. “The plague? I wouldn’t put it past those sewer rats.”  _

_ He eyes her watch. “Hey. What is it that you have there?”  _

_ Not curious. Angry.  _

_ Hope shrugs, trying to act indifferent. If he thinks she doesn’t care about it, he won’t take it away.  _

_ “It’s just a watch,” she says. “I took it before I knew who he was. Don’t worry, I’ll throw it away when we get home.”  _

_ Suddenly, the watch is snatched off of her wrist and right into her father’s hand. He throws it against the cement in front of them, and she watches it crack on the pavement, and in her heart all the same.  _

_ If that’s not enough, Klaus also steps on it as they pass it, so hard that it crunches once more underneath his dragon-hide boot. When Hope glances back, she sees it on the ground. In beautiful, broken little pieces.  _

_ “Don’t bother.” He smirks.  _

—

_ Hope goes to visit the store a few days later, when she finally manages to escape the tight clutches of her father, who had grounded her that fateful, summer day.  _

_ Oddly enough, the door doesn’t budge when Hope turns the handle, and she finds that it’s locked. The sign reads that the store is closed.  _

_ Hope frowns. She had just wanted to apologize to Otto. Maybe he’s out on his lunch break?  _

_ The pureblood turns around to walk away, when a familiar vendor on the street catches her eye. It’s the guy that holds the newspaper stand next door.  _

“_Hey.” Hope puts her hands in her pockets and gestures to the antique shop with a nod of her head, once she’s sure she has the vendor’s attention. “Do you know if the store owner will be back anytime soon?” _

_ The man knits his eyebrows together.  _

_ “Oh, you didn’t hear?” he says, like he’s simply discussing the weather. “That poor, old man passed away the other day. Wife said it was a heart attack, or something.”  _

Hope freezes, just enough that her body jerks forward with the suddenness of it. This isn’t saying much, since she had already been as still as stone a couple of seconds ago. 

Klaus’ smirk twitches as if simply amused, but she knows better by the way his eyes narrow into hers. She can’t put this off anymore. She needs to fucking say something. Needs to move. Needs to shake herself out of it. 

The pureblood forces herself to take another step closer to him, even though every nerve and bone in her body is pulling her in the opposite direction. It feels like hours have passed since her eyes set on her father’s, but in reality, it’s only been a few seconds. 

“I hear that you’ve been keeping some...” Klaus tilts his head from side to side, as if weighing his words. “Lesser company.” 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. He knows. He knows. He fucking knows. What gave her away? Had he been able to read her mind? 

No. No. It can’t be. Snape taught her Occlumency himself. She had been smart enough to place down iron-clad walls in her mind the moment her father had seen her. Smart enough to hide her thoughts, to conceal her emotions and feelings. 

Then, what is it? How can he tell? Merlin. What did she do? What—

“Give her a break, Nikki.” Her uncle Kol steps out from behind her father, his arm tucked underneath his wife’s, Davina. Hope notices her aunt Rebekah and Marcel standing off to the other side, and her other aunt Freya and her wife Keelin with them. “It’s not her fault that fool Dumbledore is forcing the higher beings of society to associate themselves with those beneath them. At least she managed a half-breed.” 

Hope nearly heaves a sigh of relief. Great. They’re only talking about the fact that she’s bringing Landon as her date to the ball. She can do this. She can explain this. This she can do. 

“Excuse me?” A slightly high-pitched voice sounds from behind the family, and Hope turns around to take in the appearance of Caroline Salvatore, looking obviously offended. Next to her stands her husband, and next to him stands his brother, Damon, and Damon’s wife, Elena. On her other side stands Bonnie St. John and her husband Lorenzo. 

All of their children are behind them. Younger years, by the looks of it. Hope has never seen any of them in her classes, but she can recognize all of them by the tell-tale dark hair and light eyes. 

“Caroline.” Klaus honest-to-Merlin smiles at the sight of the blonde. Hope cocks her head to the side, trying to figure out what’s different about him. She realizes that it’s his eyes. They’re practically sparkling, brighter than Hope has seen them in a while. “It’s nice to see you.” 

Well. Hope thinks. He’s quite clearly being sarcastic, since Caroline is both muggleborn and absolutely despises Hope’s father. 

“_Weird_,” Caroline remarks, plastering on a sugary, fake smile. “I was just about to say the exact opposite.” 

She waves her hand to gesture around them, to the gates of Hogwarts. Her smile grows tight. “I didn’t know they allowed cold-blooded murderers in here.” 

Klaus’ own smiles grows wider. 

“Huh.” He pretends to think. His eyes flash in delight. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be worried about _my_ blood.” 

Caroline grins sweetly in response. Through clenched teeth and a smile that could kill, she says, “If I were you, I’d turn myself into Azkaban.” 

“Honey,” her husband calls, trying to pull her away by her arm. He glances back to his kids. Next to Hope, her aunt Rebekah straightens up. “Not in front of the children, please.” 

Klaus hums at that. “Your blood traitor of a husband is right for a change,” he chuckles. “Perhaps you should listen to him for once.” 

Stefan doesn’t seem to like that at all. He steps forward, all pretenses of protecting his kids from petty quarrels gone. “Better a blood traitor than an elitist psychopath,” he hisses, but he’s wearing a polite smirk, too. 

Hope arches an eyebrow. She wonders how they can all insult each other with smiles on their faces. 

Klaus only laughs again. 

“Funny you should say that,” he tells Stefan. “If I can recall correctly, you and I used to be one of the same. It wasn’t so long ago that we had our fun together, was it?” 

Stefan’s throat visibly bobs, and Rebekah isn’t faring so well. He glances off to Caroline, who squeezes his hand from where it holds her own. Klaus’ eyes watch the action, and for a second, Hope thinks that she can hear her father swallowing hard, too. 

“Times have changed since then, Klaus,” Stefan decides on saying with a shrug, voice quiet but holding no room for argument. It’s only fitting that Klaus argues, then. 

“I would disagree,” he drawls. Although he’s talking to Stefan, his eyes are on Caroline, as if wiling her to look at him and hear the meaning in his words. “Only people change. Everything else stays the same.” 

Caroline’s bright, blue eyes dim. 

“Always?” she speaks up. Stefan frowns. 

When Hope’s father talks again, his voice is much more quiet. Almost breathless, like he can’t quite wait to answer, but is none too eager all the same. 

“_Always_,” he says, at last, still keeping eye-contact. At his side, Hope’s mother bites her lip. Rebekah and Stefan stare at each other. 

A loud, booming voice interrupts them.

“Welcome, welcome, families of Hogwarts!” Headmaster Dumbledore declares, towards the front, with his wand raised to his mouth like a microphone. “For those of you who have attended in past years, perhaps I should say welcome _back_. For those of you who have not, I hope you are looking forward to seeing what our castle has to offer. For all, I’m so happy you could make it. Before I get carried away and disrupt important family time, I would like to...” 

Hope tunes him out almost immediately, her mind buzzing with thoughts of the stand-off that just took place between her family and the Salvatore’s. 

When she glances over to her aunt, she can see that Rebekah is still watching Stefan dangerously. She had never noticed before. Curiosity overwhelms her and she finds herself reaching out before she can think. 

“What did he mean?” the pureblood blurts in a whisper, nudging her aunt. Rebekah snaps out of it and meets her eyes, blinking slowly to steady herself. To ground herself to the present. “When my father said, ‘you and I used to be one of the same’?” 

Rebekah lowers her voice as to not be overheard. 

“Stefan used to run in our circles,” she explains. “There was a time where he was even my friend. That all changed a couple of months after graduation, when him and his brother betrayed his friends and family, Stefan by eloping with Caroline Forbes and his brother by doing the same with Elena Gilbert. They were both rightfully disowned, but since they were the last heirs of the Salvatore bloodline, it also ended their pure lineage when their half-breed children came about.” 

Hope manages not to flinch at her aunt’s choice words of _rightfully disowned_ and _half-breed children_. Shame stirs in her stomach like a boiling cauldron. 

“Poor Giuseppe,” the blonde woman mutters, referring to Stefan and Damon’s father. She shakes her head sadly. “I had breakfast with him the other day—that man couldn’t express his disappointment in how they turned out enough. He hasn’t been in contact with either of them for years.” 

Hope nods. She swallows as she feels a lump lodged in her throat a bit like an ice cube, and a part of her wishes she hadn’t asked. That same part shivers. 

“Oh,” she breathes, right as Dumbledore says the exact same thing: 

“Oh!” The old man huffs, checking the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Look at the time! I fear I have gone away with myself, my sincerest apologies. Still, the ball is not for a few hours, which should give everyone a nice chance to reunite and reacquaint themselves with their families. I would say, it might even present our amazing students with the opportunity to introduce their loved ones to friends and housemates.” 

He gives everyone a bright, hopeful smile, before sobering up.

“And,” Dumbledore says, wagging his finger in warning, “I do not wish to see anyone just standing around and lazing about, please enjoy yourselves and this sacred time.” 

All parents and children seem to be in consensus of that. Dumbledore directs his attention to the former. 

“Now, I have asked your children to act as your tour guides, so if you will, please allow them to lead you through this day and make our school proud.” He then looks to the latter. “Students, I trust you will not dishonor Hogwarts’ values and principles, just as you can trust that my staff and I have a beautiful evening planned out for all of you...” 

With a few more grand words of parting, Dumbledore ends his little speech by removing the amplifying spell on his wand. He waves it in the air twice both ways, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Lexsctly Ubcab.” 

A red spark shoots out of the tip of his wand and sends jets of brightly-colored fireworks across the sky, formally commencing the end of the school semester and the beginning of the ball and winter break. 

Some people start clapping and cheering, while others, such as the entirety of the Mikaelson family, just roll their eyes. 

Dumbledore’s own blue ones twinkle and he smiles in satisfaction, before tucking his wand back into the pocket of his yellow-starred, purple robe. As the fireworks die out, everyone slowly starts to head inside the castle as a large crowd. 

“What in Merlin’s name is he wearing?” Rebekah remarks, a frown twisting the corners of her lips down as she eyes Dumbledore. Kol perks up. 

“Are you referring to the stupid hat sitting on his senile, rotten head or his off-putting, ridiculous robes?” he asks, a sneer of his own curled on his face. “If both, I couldn’t agree more. That man looks like a century-old troll with a broomstick up his ass.” 

“Kol!” Davina scolds, looking quite serious and almost upset at her husband. Hope’s heart picks up speed. Is the brunette about to defend Dumbledore of all people? 

Maybe there is hope for the young Mikaelson heir. Maybe she can get away with—

Or not. 

“Is it really necessary to compare him to that?” Davina asks, pouting. Kol raises his eyebrows and sticks his nose in the air, seemingly amused. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve switched over to the light side in the last minute since I’ve talked to you,” he laughs out. Davina laughs, too. 

“Are you kidding?” she hisses. “I was only upset you were offending the _troll_.” 

Rebekah, Kol, and Davina all start laughing, with Hope standing in the middle between them wearing a nervous smile. She tries to laugh with her family, but it sounds too fake. Luckily, they don’t notice. 

Still, their laughing fades away in seconds. 

Without preamble, someone claps a hand on Hope’s shoulder behind the four of them. The auburn-haired girl thinks that her own parents might be up in the front a couple of feet away. 

“Enough mindless chit-chat, ladies,” Elijah teases with a smile. Kol scoffs, but he doesn’t look too terribly upset. “I believe we were promised a tour of the castle by our dear, kind niece. Hope?” 

He squeezes her shoulder in emphasis, and Hope pretends that she doesn’t feel comforted and burned by it all at once. 

Merlin. It’s becoming too hard for her to keep up with them. It’s just—

It’s just _too much_. Too much for her to handle. 

“As if you don’t know this castle like the back of your hand,” Hope’s mother cuts in, saving Hope from answering. The pureblood was wrong; her mother had been behind her as well. 

Elijah gives Hayley a fond smile, eyes growing soft as they land on her. 

“Perhaps not anymore,” he says. “Nearly two decades have passed since we graduated. When I heard our old common room was relocated to the East tower, I could hardly believe it.” 

He glances at his niece, a joking, pleading lilt to his voice. “Don’t tell me it’s true, Hope.” 

Hope opens her mouth. She doesn’t quite get to the point of forming words. 

“That would make my daughter a liar.” Klaus slides into step with Hope, looking like he’s enjoying himself. His wide smile almost scares Hope. She has to tell herself to calm down nearly ten times in order for her body to finally listen. 

“Yes,” the man confirms at Elijah’s curious look. “I saw the new common room for myself when I visited just over a year ago. Here.” 

He motions in front of them. “I’ll lead the way. Hope, walk with me.” 

Hope scowls but doesn’t argue. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one leading? 

Now her father might try to start a conversation with her. If she had been guiding her family instead, she could have stayed several steps ahead of them. Alone. 

Anxiety creeps up the back of her spine and up to her neck. She rubs at her burning nape, trying not to melt underneath her father’s burning gaze. 

“Did you receive my first letter?” 

Damn it. So much for avoiding conversation. 

When Hope doesn’t answer, Klaus seems to think she needs clarification and adds, “Where I asked you to entertain the possibility of a marriage contract?” 

Fuck. She had, in all actuality, forgotten about that. Marriage had not been on her mind for weeks, and when it had, it was only there with thoughts of proposing to Josie. 

Hope wills her pounding heart to rest for the fifth time in just as many minutes. Her father is walking too close to her. She’s afraid he might hear the traitorous beat of her heart. 

“Yes, Father,” she says, surprised at how even her voice comes out. Klaus accepts the answer with somewhat of a sly smile. 

“So you did.” A corner of his lips quirks up higher than the other. “One could hardly tell with the way you addressed your mother and I the last time you wrote to us. I wasn’t positive you had even read my letter at all.” 

Hope drops her eyes to the floor, drawing back into herself. Merlin. That had been a month ago. How did he still remember? She knew her father could hold grudges, but not to this extent. 

Hmm. He doesn’t sound very upset about it, so hopefully an apology will be enough to please him. Merlin knows she has apologized enough to her father in her life time for the words to come easy to her. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs softly, but she sounds a little bit too stiff to be believable. Klaus doesn’t bat an eye. “I never meant to come off as rude. I’ve just been rather busy.” 

“Oh?” Another amused smirk. Another moment in time where Hope stops breathing. Stops thinking. Stops being. “Then I’m sure you’ve been thinking about my proposal.” 

With downcast eyes and a cunning smile, Klaus adds, “If you are so inclined, I’m confident your friend Rose would be more than happy to carry on the Mikaelson name. She appears to care for you deeply, if her own letter to your mother and I is anything to go by.” 

Bile rises in Hope’s throat. Marrying Rose? The thought isn’t so awful, but Hope still can’t imagine herself doing that. She would be happy to be married to her best friend, of course, but she would be happier married to the love of her life.

If only she could admit that. 

“Rose?” Hope scrunches up her face, but she tries her hardest to keep her features blank. The worst thing she could do right now is offend her father. “We’re not really like that. I don’t think she harbors anything more than friendship for me.” 

“You could always change her mind,” Klaus suggests. His voice takes on something like a grumble. “Salazar knows your mother needed some thorough convincing.” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek, still unsure. She doesn’t want to disappoint her father, but this is definitely not the right way to go about things. Rose would kill her if she proposed out of nowhere.

Well, Hope thinks, Rose would probably still kill her even if she proposed after warning the girl about her intentions years before. 

“I don’t know...” she starts skeptically. “I still think she—“ 

“Come on,” her father urges. A part of Hope wants to spill the beans about Rose being a halfblood just to get out of this conversation. “Buy her some nice flowers, maybe even some expensive chocolates. Women adore being pampered and cherished. Taken care of. Loved.” 

_ Because that worked out so well with Mom.  _

Hope shakes her head, a clever remark dying on the tip of her tongue. She clenches her fists once, twice, and then lets go of her anger. It won’t do well to be mad at her dad and then fail to hide it correctly. 

“Yes, Father, I know.” Still, Hope is unable to keep the bite out of her voice. She snarks, “I am a woman myself, after all.” 

“Oooh,” Klaus coos in joy, looking very pleased. Hope wonders if he had been goading her all this time. “_There_ she is.” 

Damn it. 

“You’ve been so stiff and formal since we got here,” he tells her, gesturing to her aunts and uncles behind her. Hope glances back and sees that they’re all a good couple of feet away, strutting around leisurely. “I was beginning to wonder if one of your classmates had slipped something into your morning pumpkin juice. Your mother and I have never seen you so wound up.” 

Hope swears inwardly. She had been hoping they wouldn’t notice how disconnected she was acting from them. She hadn’t even hugged any of her family members in greeting yet. Kol’s comments and the appearance of the Salvatore family had gotten her out of it. 

“It’s just been my classes, honest,” she tells her father, tone not quite curt, but not entirely rude or polite either. Her answer is only part of the truth. The other part is crawling up her throat and screaming for escape. “I’m still exhausted from exams.” 

“Good.” 

How is that _good_? 

Hope has to fight to stop herself from tightening her fists into balls again. 

“That ought to mean you’ve done well enough to tire yourself out,” Klaus explains. “I can’t wait to find out just how well.” 

Her stomach twists. It feels like there is a snake coiling around inside her abdomen. 

“Your mother should be just as curious, if not more,” he goes on, not noticing his daughter’s inner struggle. “I’ll do you the good favor of making sure she doesn’t bring it up in the meantime.” 

A small mercy. 

“Thank you,” Hope says quietly, still looking at the floor. If they weren’t at Hogwarts right now, Klaus would probably be admonishing her for not paying attention to her surroundings and keeping her head high, but they are and the man seems too distracted by the nostalgia of his old school to even care. 

He only hums thoughtfully, allowing a weird silence to drag between them. It’s uncomfortable and awkward for Hope, but she gets the feeling that her father is completely fine with it. 

Yup. Looking at him now, he doesn’t appear to feel uncomfortable or awkward at all. 

How is that fair? How is any of this fair, when Hope feels like she is going to either crumble to dust or split into two any second now? _How_ is it? 

The father and daughter pair continue the rest of the walk to the common room in this same, unrelenting silence, with their family members right behind them.

As they pass a familiar statue, Hope quickly realizes that Klaus is leading them through the scenic route. While they could’ve just gone through the first floor passageway straight to the Slytherin tower, instead they’re walking through most of the grounds and the large courtyard outside. No wonder it’s taking so long. 

When they reach the common room at last, all heads turn to Hope expectantly for the password. The snake in the portrait brightens up at the sight of the Mikaelson family, well, more specifically Klaus. 

“Missster Mikaelssson,” it hisses, scales glistening and pupils glinting darkly. Klaus raises his eyebrows, faintly entertained. “It’sss been a while. Your daughter has been up to a lot. You should asssk her all about it.” 

Hope swallows. Her father stares at her curiously, her mother just the same. In fact, her whole family is. She pretends not to feel their eyes on her. 

“Thanks,” she says, with no real gratitude, “but we’ve already caught all up.” 

The snake snickers. Hope pretends not to hear.

“Now, if you would please let us in,” she says unkindly, not wanting to be out here for another second, not wanting to be out here for another second with her entire family glaring into the back of her head. 

“Uh, uh,” the snake tuts. “Password?” 

“Poltergeist.” 

The entrance collapses and swings open, with Hope stepping inside first. She is pushed right back out almost instantly, since the common room is completely packed with students and their parents. 

She has to shove her way back in order to shut the common room door behind her. She quickly sees that she can barely move three feet without bumping into another person. 

A group of younger years are running around like toddlers, another group crowding the couches and tables to play wizard chess and exploding snap. Hope isn’t completely sure, but she thinks she can glimpse her friends talking quietly together near the fireplace as their parents catch up with each other themselves. 

“Wow.” Kol lets out a low whistle, gesturing out to the room as they gravitate towards the chess tables sat up. “Looks the same as it always has.”

His playful gaze sweeps to Elijah. “What do you think, Brother?” 

He nods his head meaningfully towards a black chess piece, picking it up and fiddling with it between this thumb and forefinger. “Care to wager a game of chess?” 

Klaus huffs a breath. “This is no time for games, Kol.”

“There’s always times for games,” the other man disagrees, a sick grin on his face that sends vomit up Hope’s throat all over again. She swallows it back down. 

While they might just be talking about chess, for Hope it feels like they’re talking about _more_. 

“If you want to play so badly,” Hayley cuts in, a delicate smirk playing on her lips. “You can go run along with the first-years. Perhaps you can even ask Dumbledore if he’d consider enrolling you as a student again.” 

Kol’s smile drops and a scowl replaces it. He grumbles something underneath his breath and leans into his wife’s soothing touch. The man has always been a bit too childish and wild for his age. 

“Now, if you’re done messing around with toys...” Kol drops the chess piece back onto the table, his scowl growing deeper. “I would like to meet my daughter’s friends.” 

Hope startles straight up and picks her head off of the floor, meeting her mother’s expectant gaze. What the fuck does the woman mean by that? She’s already met all of Hope’s friends. 

“Have you made any new ones, honey?” Hayley asks. Oh shit. Is Hope supposed to answer that? 

Her mind immediately goes to Josie, but another look at her father and she places a careful mask over her thoughts. 

“Not really,” she says, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Just my usual group. They’re all over there if you’d like to talk to them.” 

She nods off to the fireplace, where Ethan and Maya are stoking the flames with their wands. Not a very great idea. Rose and Penelope are watching them with identical unimpressed looks of boredom. 

“Is Rose with them?” Klaus bends his head forward to get a better look. “If so, I would love to.” 

He’s already walking away, throwing over his shoulder, “Come introduce me.” 

Hope frowns and picks up her pace to walk alongside him. “Introduce you? But you’ve met her at least twenty times before. She stayed over at our house for a week during the summer, remember?” 

Klaus shifts his eyes from side to side. “Of course,” he says, unconvincingly. 

All of Hope’s friends straighten up as they catch sight of her family coming over. Ethan sticks his hand out almost immediately. “Mister Mikaelson, it’s good to see you. My mother was asking for you earlier. Hope’s been—“ 

“Very well,” Klaus cuts him off. He doesn’t spare Ethan a single glance, directing his attention to Rose. “Hello, Miss Nicot. How are you doing?” 

Maya hides a laugh behind her hand while her brother pouts at the easy dismissal. Hope pouts, too. Her father is taking the whole matchmaker thing a little too far. 

“Good, thank you...” Rose trails off, looking uneasy at the attention. She glances at Hope, a silent question in her eyes. The pureblood tries to nonverbally explain what’s happening, but Rose suddenly sucks at reading gestures or lips. 

“Good,” Klaus clips, just before Rose might ask him how he’s doing in return. He looks around the room. “I don’t see your parents around. Are they not here?” 

A small flush rises to the girl’s cheeks. 

“They couldn’t make it, I’m afraid,” she admits, lowering her gaze to the floor. “Father’s got his hands full with work, you know how it is.” 

Klaus smiles nice and wide. He has no idea that Rose is a halfblood. It almost makes Hope smile. “That I do.” 

He opens his mouth to add something else, when a loud, crashing noise sounds from the bottom of the staircase to the boys’ dormitory. Hope snaps her head around to find Pedro laying on the floor, having taken quite the fall and having also landed on his head.

His head, which is split open and dripping a steady pool of blood onto the floor. Hope finds herself moving on autopilot as every single person in the room draws their wand, but someone else near him is quicker. 

Josie Saltzman. 

She appears to have been climbing down the steps of the girls’ dormitory staircase at the same time as Pedro, and she’s the first one to get to him. With no wand. 

Instead, she kneels over him as he groans and thrashes on the ground, trying to hold his head in his hands. Josie waves her own hand over the cut on his head three times, slowly sewing the skin back together. With another wave, the pool of blood is gone, and his robes are clean again. 

Yet, she hadn’t even uttered a spell out loud. 

It sort of reminds Hope of the time Josie healed her split lip. She had done it without a wand then, too, but the pureblood finds herself surprised all over again. 

Hope has to suppress her proud smile watching the other girl, but she can’t quite help the look of worry on her face over Pedro getting injured. 

She stops trying to hide it when her father looks just as upset. Klaus has always favored the young boy, has always treated him like his own. Pedro’s parents and Hope’s are pretty close. They visit regularly during school breaks and attend many Ministry events together. 

So, it’s only natural that her family follows right after Josie, second to Pedro’s own family. 

“Pedro?” Hope finds herself kneeling next to him like Josie. She grabs his arm to get his attention, keeping her eyes carefully off of the muggleborn. “Are you alright?” 

Pedro slowly sits up, and Hope swears the temperature of the room drops to zero as everyone waits for him to speak. A moment passes. Another. Pedro says nothing at all. 

His dazed eyes meet Hope’s. She sucks in an anxious breath. 

Then, the boy starts to laugh. 

Hope sighs and releases his arm. His laughter has always been contagious, and slowly every adult in the room follows his lead and chuckles with him in relief. 

“My boy.” Pedro’s father helps him up, and his mother appears at his side, too. Hope and Josie manage to stand up on their own, glancing off to each other awkwardly and then anywhere else. “What did I say about being clumsy?” 

Pedro pouts. “Not to be.” 

Some more light-hearted chuckles. 

His mother and father share a look before leading him out of the common room, probably to get checked up in the hospital wing. They’re too worried for their son to care about anything else. 

Very briefly, Pedro turns back to Josie with a bright, grateful smile on his face. “Thanks, Jo,” he says. 

Hope curses underneath her breath. She thought she had told him to drop the nickname. 

All attention turns to his savior, who had managed to heal Pedro without a word nor a wand. She stands with a blush on her face, staring after Pedro like she wants to follow him and leave as soon as possible. 

Hope pretends not to notice the muggleborn. She even moves away from her, trying to distance herself and ruin the chance someone might associate them together as much as possible. 

The pureblood only stares at her shoes, for just a second, before darting her eyes out to watch her father’s reaction. 

Damn it.

He’s looking at Josie very curiously, his eyes alight with interest, a smile quirked up on his lips. Hope feels fear grip her with two hands wrapped around her neck. 

She tries to tell the other girl to scurry off before her father tries to talk to her, but it’s too late. He’s already noticed her. More than noticed her.

Klaus has always been attracted to powerful magic, has always been captivated and tempted by it. Has always consumed himself within it. 

The rest of the adults in the room are intrigued by it as well, but none of them quite share Klaus’ boldness, and they only move closer to get a better look at Josie, not daring enough to speak up and ask about her magic. 

Klaus has no such qualms or limitations. 

“Wandless and nonverbal healing magic?” he notes out loud. Josie goes rigid. It’s not very noticeable, but then again, Hope has always been one to pay extra attention to her.For her part, Hope freezes, too. “Impressive.” 

She looks between her father and her girlfriend, heart in her throat. Her tongue feels too heavy in her mouth. 

“Erm, thank you,” Josie stammers out quietly, before straightening her back and holding her chin high. Raising her voice, she repeats herself, “Thank you.” 

Klaus nods. 

“I don’t believe I’ve met you before,” he tells her. Hope feels Rose grip her arm tightly next to her, but she’s not trying to get her attention. She seems just as scared as Hope. “Is this one of your friends, Hope?” 

Hope has to swallow thickly before answering. If she hadn’t, she thinks the lump in her throat might have prevented her from speaking. 

“No, Father,” she says stiffly.

There’s a moment, there, where Josie glances at her and Hope catches her gaze, where their eyes stop onto each other as fast as their raging hearts, blue on brown, pupil on pupil. 

Hope’s eyes fog up with her inner turmoil and she has to blink several times to clear them. Her face remains carefully blank. 

“Hmm,” Klaus hums, tilting his head to the side as he looks from Josie to Hope and then back to Josie. “Perhaps that should change. What is your name, young lady?” 

The brunette bites down on her bottom lip before responding. “Josette.” 

Her father makes a pleased sound at the back of his throat. 

“Ah, _Josette_.” His tongue clips around the second syllable in the muggleborn’s name far too harshly for Hope, and her teeth begin to sting with the force in which they’re clenching against each other. 

How dare he say her name like that, she thinks. It is meant to be said with reverence, meant to be worshipped and uttered softly, meant to be—

Hope really needs to stop. If she gets carried away, her Occlumency walls might falter and her dad will be able to sneak a glimpse into her head. 

“With that level of magical ability,” Klaus continues, “surely it must be hereditary. What do your parents do?” 

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

Klaus has no idea at all who Josie is. Then again, Hope hadn’t either when she met her. Her last name had been the only clue to help her along. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. 

Hopefully, Josie will say something her father wants to hear and will walk away. _Let that be the end of it_, Hope begs. _Please_. Let nothing else happen. Do not let her father learn who the muggleborn is and feel humiliated that his daughter had not said anything beforehand. 

Don’t let Klaus be angry with her for allowing him to compliment a muggleborn. Do not—

“My father is a teacher,” Josie says finally, eyes narrowed in thought. Her words are reluctant. Shy. “And, well, my mother is a doctor.” 

Her first mistake. 

Klaus raises his eyebrows. 

“A doctor?” 

Josie cringes almost imperceptibly. Hope does, too. Out of the corner of her eye, she examines the rest of her family. Elijah, Hayley, and Marcel look equally intrigued, but Rebekah, Kol, and Davina look bored. Freya and Keelin are nowhere to be seen. 

“A muggle healer,” Josie clarifies, with a sharp intake of breath, setting her jaw and looking like someone had strangled the words out of her. 

Rose’s grip on Hope’s arm becomes tighter. She doesn’t think her blood is circulating to the limb anymore, but perhaps that’s for the best. It’s better if she’s numb to everything that’s about to happen. 

“Oh,” Klaus breathes, the smile sliding off his face with all the speed of a flying hippogriff. He draws his eyebrows together, voice a little rougher than it had been before. “I see.” 

“And that would make you a halfblood?” he asks slowly, gaze calculating on Josie’s. For her part, Josie doesn’t look away and stands her ground. 

“No.” 

Hope feels nausea pool in her mouth like saliva. She has to shut her eyes to hold out against the urge to throw up all over her shoes and the common room carpet. When she opens them, her mother is looking at her with something she can’t quite interpret. 

“Ah.” The smirk reappear on his lips, but this time it’s tight and not quite threatening, but dangerous. A flicker of disgust flashes at the corner of his mouth, snapping it down. “A muggleborn.” 

Well. At least he hadn’t called her a filthy, little mudblood. 

Josie shrugs, maybe trying to appear nonchalant. It works. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.” She even flips her hair over her shoulder, keeping her chin raised high and stubborn. 

Her second mistake. 

The second she moves her hair to rest on her back, the front of Josie’s robes are no longer hidden by it, which allows the Mikaelson emblem on the right pocket to become exposed. 

The tips of Hope’s ears turn pink. 

Oh.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. No. Fuck. _No_. 

Hope swallows hard, face burning hot. It feels like all of the blood in her body has suddenly rushed to her head, and she nearly collapses backwards, growing lightheaded. 

Her knees turn to jelly and she loses all feeling past her waist, but Rose’s hold on her arm steadies her enough to not let her fall over.

A beat passes. 

Hope feels unrelenting horror bite into every inch of her skin and nip at her heels. Is this what panic feels like, she wonders, when she can taste her stomach acid in her mouth? Is this _panic_, with her every single nerve on edge, every muscle tensed in fear, every bone weighing like a bag of bricks in her body? 

Jaw visibly ticking, Hope forces herself to calm down, to pull air into her aching lungs. Sometime in between Klaus introducing himself to Josie and now, she had stopped breathing. 

She then chances a glance at her father, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. 

“No,” he says, still smirking like he’s amused by Josie’s bravery, or at least thinking something amusing to himself. “I guess not. Truly, your parents only have themselves to blame for bringing you into our world.” 

Thank Merlin. She almost sings her praises to the sky, almost sighs outwardly in relief. He didn’t notice at all. And Hope will keep it that way. 

As long as he doesn’t know, they’ll be fine. He won’t wonder why Josie is wearing Hope’s robe, he won’t think that they’re involved with each other in any way, shape, or form. Nope. 

Risking another look to her mother, she catches Hayley’s bottom lip pulled in between her teeth, chewing it in thought. Her eyes are focused, not on Josie’s face, but a couple of inches below. Focused right on the letter M stitched into the pocket. 

Hope’s breath catches again. This time, she doesn’t even care. She watches, in slow motion, as her mother raises her eyes from Josie’s robe to Hope’s, as if checking for the identical emblems. 

She parts her lips in surprise when her suspicions are confirmed, eyes snapping to her daughter’s with all the subtlety of an Unforgivable curse. A burst of emotions flash across her face, across the tight line of her eyes and the twist of her lips, so quickly that Hope can’t catch a single one.

Is it anger? Disgust? Disappointment? She can’t tell. 

When she finds that she can’t watch her mother realize that her own daughter has betrayed her for any longer, she shifts her gaze anywhere else. This time, her eyes fall on Elijah. 

Elijah, who is seeming to come to the same revelation as Hayley. His reaction is much more restrained, only flitting his eyes between Josie and Hope every other moment or so, choosing not to blatantly stare. 

Hope can’t tell from looking at Marcel and Davina. Davina is staring at the floor, biting her lower lip in deep contemplation, while Marcel is staring at the wall, jaw set like stone. 

The rest of Hope’s family is none the wiser. Especially Klaus. 

“I had heard that the hat sorted a muggleborn such as yourself into Slytherin this year,” the man goes on, as if simply thinking out loud, as if the words are more for himself than for Josie. “But I wasn’t sure I...believed it, if you will. I simply thought it to be mere workplace gossip.” 

Josie doesn’t respond to that. What would she even say? 

It doesn’t matter, because Klaus keeps talking. 

“Do you have a last name, by any chance?” he asks. Hope wants to pull her hair out. She doesn’t know what to do. She feels trapped. Trapped with no chance of escape. 

Whoever said, that the truth is what sets one free? They had lied, Hope thinks. There is nothing but truth now, and yet...

She’s trapped.

“Saltzman,” Josie answers, but Hope can barely hear the words. It feels as though she is listening with two ears plugged full of water. “Josette Saltzman.”

The last name is not very common. And Klaus is not very stupid. 

His jaw sets dangerously. Where his eyes had been bright and curious before, they are now only dark and dangerous. 

“As in, Alaric Saltzman?” 

Josie nods. Tilts her head down, and then back up. That’s it. She might be doing more, but Hope’s eyes are suddenly burning and she’s lost her ability to see as well, now. She raises them to the ceiling and blinks to quell her tears blurring over her vision. 

It feels like her life is being snuffed out by the very people that gave it to her. 

“Please, Klaus.” Hayley comes up behind her husband and places a single, well-manicured hand on his arm in a poor attempt to move him away. She gives him a fake smile. “We don’t have all day, and certainly not to make nice with our inferiors.” 

She utters the words loud enough for everyone to hear, which causes a look of hurt to flicker across Josie’s face. It’s gone before Hope can wonder if it was ever truly there. Her fists clench and she glares at the back of her mother’s head. 

Then, the woman lowers her voice, just for Klaus. “If you think this is unavoidable, be quick about it. If not, I want to visit the Herbology greenhouses before the ball.” 

A muscle twitching in the man’s jaw is all Hayley gets to tell he heard her. Klaus takes a step back, distancing himself from Josie. 

“Very well,” he says, voice low but unmistakably clear. “Send my best regards to your father. Please let him know that I have kept him in my thoughts, and his time with me has never been far from my mind.” 

Meaning: _I have never forgotten what he did to me. _

Josie smiles, not unkindly. “I will.” 

Meaning: _I won’t say a word. _

—

The second they separate from Josie, Hayley pulls Hope outside of the common room with a bruising, vice-grip around her elbow. Her nails dig into her daughter’s skin like shards of ice and Hope flinches away from her. 

When her mother sends her a scathing look that the rest of the family miss completely, Hope tries her hardest not to move to avoid her mother’s wrath and any further consequences. 

Doing anything else will only make her look guilty, she thinks. She doesn’t know that not fighting back is what ends up signing her death certificate. 

“Excuse us, everyone,” Hayley says, rather pleasantly. Hope’s face contorts into a brief look of horror, before she schools her expression completely. Her mother is always the scariest when she’s the nicest. “Hope and I are going to have a little chat, girl-to-girl. Elijah, come with. I need someone to help me remember where the Herbology greenhouses are.” 

Klaus furrows his brows in confusion, along with Rebekah and Kol. Marcel doesn’t seem to find anything wrong with it, while Davina remains biting her lower lip like she was earlier, eyes still to the floor. 

“I thought Herbology was your favorite subject, though.” Rebekah cocks her head to the side curiously, putting a single hand on her hip. “How could you forget?” 

“And why do you need Elijah?” Kol adds. Klaus stays silent. “Can’t Hope show you?” 

None of their questions get answered, because Hayley only tightens the strong grip on Hope’s arm and drags her away without a single look back. This leaves Elijah chasing after them with hurried footsteps. 

As they disappear around the corner, Hope thinks she can hear her father’s echoing voice ask, “Does anyone know where my sister and her wife have gone?” 

Marcel answers. “No, but it’s not hard to guess. My bet is that they went to have a quickie in the second floor broom closet. You know, relive the fun of the glory days. That was their favorite spot back when we were at school.” 

A noise of disgust reaches Hope’s ears. She feels bike rise in her own throat at the thought of her aunts doing _that_. 

“First off, I find the ease in which you uttered those words very distasteful,” Klaus tells his friend. “Secondly, did you really feel the need to say that in hearing distance of my daughter?” 

Marcel grins. Hope doesn’t see it, but she can tell by the amusement in his voice. “You asked.” 

That’s all Hope gets before she doesn’t hear another word for a good ten minutes. Her mother keeps dragging her off to some unknown location while Elijah walks behind her, so she has no chance of escape. 

She tries to speak up several times along the way, but every single time her mother and uncle either shush her or don’t reply. She begins to think that they’re leading her to her death, so that they can kill her and take care of her quietly. 

Once they leave the castle and start walking along a dirt path, the pureblood is startled to realize that they actually are headed for the Herbology greenhouses, but not exactly. They don’t go within fifty feet of them. 

Instead, everything turns to shit the second they reach a clearing among the trees next to the farthest greenhouse on the left. Hayley stops walking as soon as they pass underneath the shade of a large, white-oak tree. Then, Elijah clasps his hands together and turns around so that his back is facing Hayley and Hope, as if acting like their body guard or something. 

It makes the Mikaelson heir shudder in fear, in agony of what comes next. She doesn’t have to wait very long. 

Hayley lets out a brief, final exhale, and that is all the warning Hope gets before she explodes. 

“How can you be so _selfish_?!” she yells, lips twisted into a snarl. 

Hope balks, leaning away with the force of her mother’s anger. She decides to play stupid, and makes herself look taken aback. 

“Selfish?” 

Hayley’s voice is guttural and rough, that same tone it takes on whenever she’s upset and starts screaming her head off. 

“You think I wanted to be stuck in this miserable, wretched family?” she continues. “Do you think I wanted to marry your father and have his child?” 

Hope’s heart thuds dully in her chest. A flash of hurt contorts the features of her face. 

“No,” Hayley answers herself. Hope cringes, ears pounding, or maybe that’s just the pulse of her heart beating within them. “But I endured it, dealt with it, and did what was expected of me, what was intended for my future. And I thought you would have enough common sense to do the same for yours. I thought you would have the forethought to stop yourself from chasing after _mud_—“ 

“Please, Hayley, someone could hear,” Elijah cuts in, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Hope’s mother barely throws a glance at him, eyes still on her daughter. 

“Maybe someone _should_,” she says, not bothering with a silencing spell, but Hope catches her uncle pulling out his wand and casting the Muffliato Charm. “It might do her some good if she realized the kind of trouble we would be in if this got out.” 

Her eyes narrow into Hope’s. The girl doesn’t know if she’s ever seen Hayley this angry. 

“_Do_ you realize?” Hayley asks, running a hand through her hair. “Do you even know what you’ve done by hiding this?” 

Hope tries to argue for the first time. Tries to beg for mercy. “Please, Mom, let me explain—“ 

Just to be interrupted. 

“Explain what?” Hayley snaps. “How you’ve condemned our family to be remembered in pureblood history as a filthy pigsty?” 

“Hayley!”

She ignores Elijah again. 

“This could mean disgrace to all our ancestors, to our entire bloodline! I can’t even look at you!” She raises her eyes to the sky, as if searching for strength. She holds a fist clenched in front of her before releasing it. “How could you do this? You’ve brought shame to our entire family. Centuries of generations of Mikaelsons, a millennium of purebloods, all gone to nothing.” 

Hope scrambles for her words, stumbling, stuttering, stammering, pleading. “I didn’t do anything, I swear. I don’t even know that girl. I only let her borrow my robe for a single day and I guess she kept it. I truly just forgot about it, if you would just let me—“ 

“Oh, _please_,” her mother cuts her off, rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off of that girl for a _second_. Bending her over the common room fireplace wouldn’t have been any more obvious.” 

“_Hayley_,” Elijah hisses, looking mortified. 

Hope’s face burns bright red. 

“_Mom_.” Her voice is a step above an embarrassed whine. 

“What?” Hayley’s own takes on a falsely-scandalized tone. “You’ve been playing with mud and suddenly _I’m_ the dirty one? And _you_.” 

She whirls on Elijah, blood boiling so hot it colors her face like flames, rushing just underneath the surface. 

“You can scold me for my foul mouth all you want, but you can’t turn away from the fact that I’m right, Elijah. I’m _right_,” she tells him. “Word of this will tarnish our family, our reputation, our power! Give it a week’s time and people will start to doubt whether we have any real magical blood in us at all, and you know just as much as I do that blood is power.” 

“No.” The man shakes his head resolutely, storming up to her. “_Family_ is power.” 

Hayley shakes her head, too. 

“The only thing that binds this family _is_ our blood,” she returns, without missing a beat. “Do not act so naive.” 

Elijah doesn’t miss a beat, either. 

“And do not be so cruel,” he says. His dark eyes dart off to Hope. “She is your daughter. You must hear her out, whatever she has to say. You owe her that, at least.” 

Hayley blinks. When she speaks again, she is much calmer than before. She turns to Hope, gesturing for her to explain herself. 

“Okay,” she mutters, waving pointedly. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.” 

Hope’s lips part with not a word between them. She hadn’t been expecting that. She hadn’t been expecting them to give her a chance. 

“Right,” she starts, taking a deep breath. Her mind panics, buzzing for a good lie. “Well, I personally think that this is all just a misunderstanding—“

“Do you take me for a fool?!” Hayley cuts her off again, doing away with the pretense of hearing her daughter out. 

“Of course not!” Hope rushes to say. “It’s just not what it looks like—“ 

Damn it. She can’t get a fucking word in edgewise to save her life. 

“Come on, Hope,” Elijah sighs, fingertips now brushing his forehead. He must have a headache or something, with the way he keeps rubbing the skin. Or maybe he just can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. “Please don’t insult our intelligence. If you really didn’t do anything with Josette and are still the girl we know you to be, you would be disgusted at the mere accusation. You would have thrown up the contents of your stomach where you stand rather than attempt to defend yourself.”

Fuck. Fuck. He’s right, but she can’t let them know. She can’t let them think so poorly of her, she can’t let Elijah ever utter Josie’s name like that again. She needs to keep her safe, needs to keep her out of her family’s mouths before her father hears and hurts her. 

“You don’t understand!” she pleads. “The reason I’m defending myself is _because_ I’m so disgusted that you would even think that of me—“ 

She hasn’t been able to finish a single sentence, yet.

“You might have been able to convince Elijah with that kind of nonsense,” Hayley interrupts, “but not me.” 

“I am your _mother_.” She is right in front of Hope, now. “You cannot hide so easily from me. I see right through your mask. I see right through it. If anything, I am the one who taught you how to wear it, and I...”

She trails off, appearing as though she has come to a sudden realization. It leaves her breathless, speechless. She blinks fast and then slow, parting her lips and closing them. Her gaze takes on a faraway look and goes unfocused, searching somewhere distantly past Hope’s shoulder. 

Elijah comes up behind the woman, places a hand on her shoulder. Hope’s throat bobs, wonders if the touch burns or soothes. 

“I only have myself to blame,” Hayley finishes, at last, words a hair’s breadth above a whisper. Empty and hollow, but much too deep and much too much all at once. 

“I should have taught you better.” A sad smile flickers at her lips. Her eyes darken. The shade of the great tree above them feels consuming. Maddening. Like there will never be light again. Like Hope will never see the sun again. “I should have protected you more.” 

Her jaw sets dangerously. 

“I still can.” For the first time in a while, she meets Hope’s gaze, like she couldn’t quite before. Until this point, she had been yelling and shouting at her, but never looking her in the eye. As if she couldn’t face the truth. “I will not alienate my daughter like my own family did to me. I won’t let Klaus hurt you, I will not allow any harm to come to you from any of our family at all.” 

Hope wants to tell her that she doesn’t care if they hurt her, doesn’t care if they even kill her, as long as they don’t touch a single hair on Josie’s head. She wants to say that she only cares about Josie. 

Hayley grabs Elijah’s hand, still on her shoulder, and brings it between them, so that it touches her stomach. Hope has never seen their love so open, so blatant, as it is right now. 

“No one can know about this,” she tells him. “Not a word to your brother, do you understand? If you truly have any devotion to me like you claim, you will not speak a single word to him concerning my daughter and that girl. Promise me.” 

Surprise flashes on Elijah’s face. His eyes grow warm. He blinks softly. “I promise.” 

Hope stands nearby, a hand on her chest as if she herself could even attempt to calm down what’s pounding right beneath it. Her body is shivering, racking in deep shudders. It feels like the adrenaline coursing through her veins is finally wearing off, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Doesn’t know how to function now that everything she thought she knew has been since destroyed. 

She can’t hold onto a single thought longer than a second at a time. Can’t fathom what just transpired. 

“I-I don’t understand,” she says, struggling to keep up, chest heaving for air. Each breath only gets caught in her throat. It feels like she’s crying without any real tears. “What ch-changed? I thought you, I thought—I don’t understand. Do you, do you still hate me?” 

“Of course not,” Hayley tells her, looking mad at Hope for thinking it, looking mad at herself for causing the thought. “I will always love you. I just need time. I just—I need _time_. Okay?” 

“Okay.”

Hope should feel relieved, should feel loved, but somehow, she feels as though the worst is yet to come. 

—

A couple of hours later, when her family finally leave her to get ready for the ball, Hope finds herself with Maya, Penelope, and Rose alone in the common room. The place is empty, now, since most of the students are busy dressing for the ball in either their own rooms or their friend’s dorms. 

“We should probably head up soon or we’re going to be late,” Rose says, at one point, when they’ve been lazing around the couches for nearly half an hour. 

“We’re always late,” Penelope remarks with a grin, but Hope and Maya agree and they slowly start to stand up and move for the girls’ dormitory staircase, just as a head of brown hair belonging to a familiar muggleborn comes down it. 

She seems to be juggling a black garment bag with her dress in it in one hand and a make-up bag, hairbrush, and nude heels in the other. On the underside of her left forearm are about four lines with different colors of lipstick, and she’s wearing a simple tank top and short-shorts with slippers. Bunny slippers. 

It’s obvious that she hadn’t expected to be seen by anyone. Hope thinks that she’s probably leaving the Slytherin common room to go get ready over in Gryffindor’s. Or perhaps she’s going to get ready with her parents in the designated changing rooms Dumbledore had set up for the students’ families. 

“Careful there, Saltzman,” Penelope taunts, upon seeing the other girl struggling with the things in her hands. 

She casts a look at the stuff Josie is carrying, and then narrows her eyes and twists her lips into a cruel smirk. “Playing dress up and wearing lipstick won’t hide the fact that you’re still a filthy, little _mudblood_.” 

Josie doesn’t even glance in Penelope’s direction, pretending not to hear her. Hope rolls her eyes without delay. 

“And bullying her won’t hide the fact that you’re still in love with her and a filthy, little hypocrite,” she says, “so shut the fuck up, Pen.” 

Hope can’t tell if the small gasp that comes right after is from Penelope or Josie, but both of their mouths are open in disbelief. For once in her life, Penelope Park can’t come up with anything clever or quick-witted and storms off with a grumbled, “Whatever.” 

Rose and Maya follow after her a second later, leaving Josie and Hope alone. They stare at each other for a long moment, before the pureblood turns to go. 

She still feels a little bitter over her talk with her mother and Uncle Elijah, and she doesn’t really feel like talking to Josie after the other girl nearly caused her to go into cardiac arrest with the whole robe stunt earlier. 

Well, that’s not exactly true. She really wants to talk to Josie, but her paranoid thoughts won’t let her enjoy it. She just wants to lock the brunette and herself in the former’s room, so that they can stay safe and alone together for the rest of the night. She won’t have to be paranoid if no one knows where they are. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter both ways, because Josie stops her from leaving with a whispered, “Wait.” 

Hope shuts her eyes, searching in the blacks of the lids of them for the courage to face the muggleborn. It doesn’t come, so she stays with her back turned away from Josie for a good couple of seconds, before opening her eyes and twisting her body back around. 

She finds Josie’s trusting, open gaze waiting for her. A small, grateful smile rests on her lips. “Thank you,” she says. 

A twinge of annoyance hits Hope hard and unexpectedly. Her own lips flicker downwards into a frown. Why is Josie thanking her? For being a _decent_ girlfriend? 

“What?” she snaps, causing Josie’s smile to fall off her face. Hope hates it. Hates that she caused it to. “Did you expect me to allow her to insult you right in front of me?” 

Josie raises her pretty brows. Her eyes squint a little bit, as if trying to figure out why Hope is acting like this. “Well, it’s not like it would have been surprising,” she says slowly. 

Hope just scoffs, turning back with the intent to storm away like Penelope had. She hadn’t been able to explode at her mother for making her feel like shit and yelling at her, so Josie is the next easy target. So—

She needs to shut her mouth before that happens. Before she destroys the only good thing going for her. Again. 

“Hey.” Josie moves in front of her and blocks the staircase. Hope doesn’t even look at her, eyes on the floor and chin to her chest. Her bottom lip trembles, and she drops her head even more to hide it. “Okay. What’s wrong, now?” 

The girl’s obliviousness is almost too much. It makes Hope feel bad for being mad at her for something she isn’t even aware of, but it also makes her even angrier. 

“My mother found out about us,” is all she says, because she can hardly speak around the lump in her throat. Josie’s reaction is instantaneous. 

“Oh my—“ She cuts herself off, dropping everything in her hands. The heels fall to the floor first, followed by the make-up bag, then the hairbrush, and finally the garment bag. 

Hope bends down immediately to help her pick everything up. Their hands go for the heels at the same time, so Josie takes the chance to try to interlock their fingers. Once doing so, she squeezes their hands together, forcing Hope to look up from the floor. 

“How? What happened?” the muggleborn asks, expression loving and open. Her thumb gently strokes the back of Hope’s hand. The nerves beneath her skin twitch and respond underneath the soft touch. It almost distracts Hope. But not enough. 

“Earlier,” she explains. “She caught you wearing our family emblem.” 

She watches Josie’s face carefully for a hint as to what she’s feeling. First comes surprise, and then guilt as she realizes what had fully happened. It works its way onto her face slowly, and stays all the same. 

Hope can’t take a second of it any longer, and moves to stand up. 

She pulls away from Josie’s hand, grabbing the rest of the items on the floor and handing them over once the brunette readjusts the garment bag hanging over her arm. 

“Hope.” Josie pouts, reaching out again with her hand. Hope dodges her. “I am so, so—“ 

“Don’t act so surprised,” the pureblood cuts her off, and the words she couldn’t find before are so easy now. _Too_ easy. “It’s like you practically begged her to look at you, prancing around in my robe and all.” 

Josie rolls her shoulders back, looking undeniably stung. Hope gulps messily and looks away, unable to withstand the flash of hurt on the girl’s face for more than a second. 

A long moment passes, where Josie just continues to stare at her, maybe willing Hope to stare back, or maybe trying to understand her sudden bitterness. 

“I can see that you’re upset,” Josie tells her, voice low as if someone might overhear. It goes away with the air and the crackle of the fireplace, but echoes in Hope’s mind. “But you don’t have to shut me out.” 

She steps closer. “_Please_. Open up. Talk to me. We can figure things out.” 

Hope clenches her teeth and stays silent. She doesn’t know where to start. Maybe if she tries hard enough, she might not have to say anything at all. An entire minute passes where she does just that. 

It’s enough for Josie’s patience to waver. Enough for her to sigh and fix Hope with a disappointed smile.

“Okay,” Josie breathes, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth before releasing it with a _pop_.“Let me know when you’ve gotten over yourself.” 

She looks around the common room, brows furrowed as if deeply thinking about a choice or decision. She seems to make it, because she then leans forward and presses her lips to the skin of Hope’s cheek. She holds them there, lingering long enough for the pureblood’s eyes to flutter shut and her shoulders to relax. 

Not long enough that Hope immediately misses the feeling when it disappears. She finally opens her eyes in a daze, but Josie is no longer in front of her. She’s gone. 

Hope panics, whirling around with the other girl’s name on her lips. 

“Josie,” she calls, trying to convey as much as she can on her face. In her words. Her heart snaps desperately in her chest. “I love you.”

Josie pauses in her step, looks over her shoulder. She smiles sadly. “I know.” 


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween :)

Here she is now: 

In the perfect dress, wearing the perfect make-up to match, with the wrong escort waiting for her downstairs. Hope sighs and wonders how she’s ever going to get through the evening. 

The pureblood looks in her bathroom mirror one last time before hiding her wand in the slit of her dress and leaving her room. The ball started half an hour ago, and she needs to get a move on. Her friends all already left to go find their own dates, leaving Hope alone. 

She knows that Landon is waiting for her outside. When she finally leaves the common room, she finds him a few feet away from the door, where they had agreed to meet up. His dress robes are clean and simple, and for once, Hope can’t see any stains or wrinkles on them. 

“You look beautiful,” Landon tells her, when the two of them are close enough to hear each other. 

And Hope does. 

Her hair is up in an elaborate bun, a few strands falling in front of her face to frame her cheekbones. Her dress is the same color as Landon’s tie, a dark-maroon red that matches her lipstick. It’s tight around her waistand flows out from her thighs, all the way down to her feet. 

“Thanks,” Hope says, taking the time to check him out. “You’re...okay.” 

She tries to smile at the boy, but the smile falls within seconds. She can’t help but imagine Josie telling her that she looks beautiful instead of him, but she hates herself for thinking it. Josie isn’t her date. She could have been, of course, but Hope fucked up any chance of that happening. If anything, she personally made sure of it that she would have a miserable night alone by herself. 

The pureblood looks away from Landon and swallows hard. Regret makes her stomach clench. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

Landon nods and holds out his arm, but Hope doesn’t take it. No one will see them until they get to the great hall, where the ball is taking place, so they don’t need to put on a show until then. 

“Listen, Landon,” she speaks up, a few minutes into their walk. She instantly curses herself in her head for calling him by his first name. Whatever. It just slipped out. “When you meet my family, there are some things you should know.” 

“Yeah?”

“After I introduce you to them,” she says, “do not speak unless spoken to, especially to my father, unless there is no other choice and it makes sense. He will think that you’re challenging him. Do you understand?” 

Landon freezes up a little, but he doesn’t stop walking. He rolls his shoulders back and glances around the corridor nervously. “Er, okay.” 

He rubs the back of his neck but doesn’t add anything. It’s a couple of moments later, when he says, “Uh, Hope?” 

She looks over at him, hesitates for just a second, and then nods for him to continue. 

“Your family _know_ that I’m your date, right?” he asks. “Like, they’re aware that—“ 

“They know,” Hope cuts him off, and they leave it at that. 

The great hall is crowded when they arrive at the entrance. Couples are waiting in a line to pass through the door, with McGonagall and Flitwick checking the blood status of students together. The Transfiguration professor is wearing a pretty green dress with a purple, pointed hat, while the Charms professor is wearing solid black dress robes. Hope doesn’t think they look half-bad.

She shoves her way to the front with Landon, too impatient to wait her turn. It’s not that she _means_ to be rude, it’s just that the long is line and she’s above standing in it. 

McGonagall gives her a dirty look as she pushes the guy behind her to get in front. The older woman doesn’t say anything, though, she just waves her wand at them as they pass underneath the entrance. 

Nothing happens, indicating that they passed the blood status test. She heard a rumor a few days ago that those who fail the test will be gifted a face full of ugly boils and a trip to the hospital wing for breaking the rules.

She gulps and shakes her head to clear her thoughts, stepping forward with her arm in Landon’s. She takes a moment to look around the new great hall. 

It’s...beautiful. The room has been completely transformed. 

All the long dining tables have vanished, as well as the house banners hanging above them. The ceiling has been transformed to look like the night sky, to the point where Hope can see thick snowflakes falling down among the twinkling stars. The trees floating up to the ceiling are all decorated with silver and gold ribbons and ornaments. Giant ice chandeliers also hang from the ceiling, some of them molded into glass figurines of different animals and shapes. There are a few white tables scattered around the room as well as a dessert and drink table, but most of the hall has been cleared out for the dance floor. 

Hope sniffs and blinks. Somehow, even the air smells crisp and clean, a bit like white snow. It’s a scent that Hope can’t place, so she just stops trying. Classical music plays in the background, and the pureblood realizes that she’s impressed. 

She was half-expecting something tacky and classless, but this is elegant and nothing like she imagined. She finds herself holding back a smile as her eyes wander from person to person in the room. 

In search of Josie, if she’s being honest. 

When she can’t seem to find her girlfriend anywhere, she starts to look around for her family. She spots them in the back of the hall, talking amongst themselves. Her friends and their own families are with them as well. Hope notices that most of Slytherin is hanging out in a single corner, while all of the other houses are intermingling with each other. 

“Hope.” Her father brightens up when he sees her. The smile she gives him back is almost real. “You look absolutely stunning. As always.” 

He lowers his eyes with a sly smirk. “You have me to thank, of course.” 

At the remark, his wife perks up next to him, setting down her glass of wine as she turns to her daughter. The woman’s smile is strained. Hope wonders if she’s the only one that notices. 

“Your father is getting things confused, honey,” Hayley says. She throws a glance at her husband. “Her looks are all _me_, Klaus.” 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you think that’s true.” Klaus smirks even wider, winking at Hope. Only then does he seem to notice her date. When his eyes fall on Landon, he narrows his gaze, looking almost...amused. “And who is this?” 

“Father, this is Landon Kirby,” Hope tells him. _My date_, goes unsaid. She hides a wince as Landon thrusts his hand out in front of him for Klaus to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure, Mister Mikaelson, sir,” the boy says, too eagerly. This time, Hope can’t hide her cringe when her father stares at Landon’s outstretched hand and chooses not to shake it.

“For you, maybe,” Klaus mutters with a stiff nod of his head, dismissing Landon like it’s nothing. He turns back to his daughter. “Now, I’ve waited long enough, Hope. Where is your date?” 

For a long moment, Hope swears that the entire great hall goes silent.   


Landon lowers his hand back to his side awkwardly, and Hope thinks that her own hands might be trembling. She’s not sure. They’re numb. Chilled to the bone. Maybe her fingers have already fallen off. Maybe they’re on the floor. But she won’t look down, can’t look away. 

Because Klaus is smiling at her with sparkling eyes. Hope can’t tell if he’s playing with her or not. Either that, or she’s going to die in a second or two. Right then and there, she knows that she’s going to kill Ryan Clarke for this. Or haunt him from the grave. 

“This is not the time nor the place to cause a scene, Klaus,” Hayley hisses through a smile of perfect, clenched teeth. “Dumbledore is watching.” 

Klaus chuckles. 

“Kidding. Kidding.” Hope breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. “Tell me, Landon, how are your parents?” 

Landon flushes, not expecting the man’s attention, or the question. For her part, Hope wasn’t expecting it either. 

“Oh,” Landon mumbles, “I don’t really know—“

“Enough about the boy,” Klaus interrupts him with a careless wave of his hand. “I came here to see my daughter, not some halfbreed.” 

Before Hope can fully realize what’s happening, her father is pulling her off to the side by her arm, leaving Landon by himself.

“Listen, Hope,” her father says, darting his gaze out around the room as if to check for wandering eyes. He lowers his voice, murmuring, “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation, and I’ve decided that I want you to invite your friend Rose to stay over at the manor this winter break.” 

Hope pales. Fuck. Not this again. 

“Father.” She swallows desperately. “Don’t you think it’s a little late—“ 

“Not at all,” Klaus cuts her off. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” 

Hope grits her teeth together to stop herself from making a face or bursting out into laughter. The irony is almost too much for her to handle. 

“She’ll make you happy,” Klaus adds. His eyes flit up to hers, looking for reassurance. “Don’t you think so?” 

_Make me happy?_ Never. Only Josie can—

“No,” Hope mutters, before she can shut the fuck up. She shakes her head, more for herself than for her father. Visibly seething. “More like it’ll make _you_ happy.” 

Klaus frowns. “What was that?” 

Hope glances down at the floor. No fingers. Here’s her chance. She just needs to take it. Summoning all the courage she has, the pureblood repeats, “It won’t make me happy.” 

She slowly brings her eyes up to his. He keeps her gaze, and she knows right away that this is a battle of wills. She can’t be the one to back down first. Hope starts to count in her head.

_One, two, three._ She can almost pretend that she’s dancing with Josie again. _One, two, three. _

The two keep staring at each other. Finally, after about a minute, Klaus smirks and glances away. The pureblood feels hope bubble in her chest. 

“Alright,” Klaus relents, taking a step back. “That was all I needed to hear.” 

Hope does a double-take. “You’re not mad?” 

Her father shakes his head.

“Of course not,” he says. “We still have a few months before you turn of age. There’s a whole world of suitors out there waiting for you. We just need to find the right one.” 

Oh, right. She still needs to get married. Still needs to accept an engagement proposal. It’s tradition. Get betrothed by seventeen—the age she can use magic without getting in trouble with the law—married by graduation, have a perfect, pureblood heir right out of Hogwarts. Several kids, if she’s lucky, but pureblood inbreeding will make any pregnancy rather difficult. It’s obvious why she’s an only child. Most Slytherins are. Except for Maya and Ethan. The Machados got lucky. It’s all luck. _Luck_. Maybe, if Hope was lucky, she wouldn’t have been born in this Merlin-forsaken family. Maybe her mother would have had another miscarriage, and for Salazar’s sake, she wouldn’t be here—

Fuck. _Fuck_. She doesn’t want any of that. She wants to wait. She wants to marry Josie. 

“Hope?” 

The pureblood blinks and glances back to her father, forcing herself to snap out of it. She always gets a little carried away when she lets herself go like that. 

“Right. Sorry.” She clears her throat and looks up at Klaus. She can’t be selfish about this. 

“Do you think,” she starts nervously. Her words comes out fast and jumbled. She has to clear her throat again. Damn it. “Do you think Rose can still come over? Even if I don’t end up courting her?” 

She knows that her friend is dreading going home this break. Rose had confided in her about her relationship with her father, and Hope knows it isn’t very good right now. She also knows that Rose was thinking about staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Hope can’t let that happen. 

“How about this?” Klaus smiles. His lips are blood-red. Hope doesn’t know why she’s just noticing this now. They always have been. “If you manage to impress Malivore Clarke during your meeting with him, you can have _all_ of your friends over.” 

Oh. The meeting.

Hope completely forgot. She can feel her blood turn to ice in her veins at the thought. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” her father says, watching her carefully for her reaction. Hope shakes her head and shows nothing. 

“No,” she tells him, and it’s almost convincing. The truth is, Hope is curious. She has no idea why she’s talking to one of her father’s friends in the first place, or even a man like Malivore. 

“You have a question.” Klaus smiles knowingly at her. “I can see it in your eyes, Hope. What is it you wish to ask?” 

The pureblood stands up straighter and blinks to keep her head on straight. She isn’t a timid person. She needs to show that. Especially to her father. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this. Why she’s showing so much...hesitation. 

“Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?” Hope asks, at last. She can’t quite say his name. Her father doesn’t seem to have the same problem. 

“_That_ is between you and Malivore,” Klaus tells her. Hope finds that she doesn’t like how he says it. At all. 

“Is it about Kirby?” she blurts. His last name sounds silly on her tongue. Like some kind of fictional animal. It makes her blush in embarrassment, and then harder for even blushing. 

“Your halfbreed date?” Klaus raises his eyebrows. Hope nods. “What do you mean?” 

If Hope didn’t know better, she would say that her father looks almost confused. But she does know better, and that can’t possibly be right. She stares at him, waiting for him to understand, but he doesn’t. 

Oh. Hope realizes. Her father has no idea. 

That must mean Ryan really, _really_ didn’t want anyone to know about Landon meeting Malivore. Even Malivore’s right hand man, her father.

“Nevermind,” Hope mutters. There must be a good reason her father doesn’t know. If she knows anything, it’s how to keep secrets. “It’s not important.” 

Klaus nods and seems to drop it, but she can see the curiosity in his eyes. It lingers like the cold. It is all Hope can do to not shiver. 

“You will listen to what he has to say, whether you like what you hear or not,” her father says, not unkindly. “Understood?” 

Hope tightens her jaw and nods. 

“Yes, Father.” She can’t keep her attitude out of her voice, but Hope doesn’t want to disappoint him all the same. She wants to make him proud. She always has. “Should I go find him now...?”

“No, no,” Klaus says quickly. His eyes dance across the room with an odd glint. “When the time is right, you’ll know.” 

Hope nods. 

She wants to ask him why he can’t tell her what the meeting is about, wants to ask him why it’s so important, wants to ask him why he’s aligning himself with a man like Malivore, wants to ask him about the summer and Otto and if he had anything to do with his death, wants to ask about the Fenarish and his role in the missing ministry official’s disappearance, wants to ask him everything, anything, but she clenches her teeth together and says nothing at all. 

“Ah, Theodore!” Hope looks up, only to find that her father’s attention has been caught by someone else. “It’s been too long, old friend.” 

Hope sighs and watches him walk away with whoever the fuck Theodore is. The night only gets worse from there. 

Ten minutes in, she catches sight of Penelope Park lingering over by the dessert and drink table. She watches as the girl removes a flask from her dress robes and dumps it into the punch bowl. Hope rolls her eyes at that. 

No sign of Josie. 

Twenty minutes in, her aunts Freya and Keelin decide to strike up a conversation with her, something about the updated Potions curriculum. Hope isn’t really paying attention. 

Still no sign of Josie. 

Sometime later, Landon excuses himself after spotting his friends hanging out on the other side of the room. Hope lets him go easily and tries to pay more attention to her aunts, who haven’t stopped talking. 

Still no fucking sign of Josie. 

Hope watches the entrance of the great hall like an eagle, she might as well be in Ravenclaw. 

“Trust me, the textbooks aren’t good for anything,” Freya says, somewhere distantly. Well, not distantly. She’s barely three feet away, but Hope feels as though they’re miles off. “Once you have the basics down, it’s always wiser to make your own instructions when you can, especially for...” 

Hope can’t help it. She stops listening and zones out, eyes on the entrance. It’s been at least half an hour and she hasn’t caught a single glimpse of Josie anywhere. Why is the other girl so late? 

Hope glances at the entrance with another frown. Just as she’s about to pull her eyes away and back to her aunt, a breathtaking brunette in a pretty, pink dress walks through the entrance. 

Josie.

Her dress moves elegantly with every step that she takes, but it’s her hair that holds Hope’s attention. The brown locks are mostly loose, but a few strands are twisted into braids, draped over her shoulders and down her slender back. The pureblood wants to reach out and feel the curls between her fingers—randomly she wonders if it’s as soft as it looks—but she doesn’t.

If that’s not all already enough, Josie is wearing the necklace Hope got her. It hangs delicately below her collarbone, a stark contrast to the muggleborn’s light skin. Hope feels her cheeks heat up. 

The warmth goes away when she catches sight of the girl next to Josie. Madeline Raichter. Josie’s date. Her own dress compliments the brunette’s well, and they look good together. They look happy. 

Josie’s smiling. Oh, Merlin, she’s _smiling_. How can she just _smile_? Hope thinks. While Hope is over here a minute away from falling apart? But her smile...

Hope can’t look away. 

She swallows and tries to calm her racing heart. She wants to be the one standing next to Josie, the one holding out her arm for her. She wants to be the one to dance with her the entire evening. 

“Hope, honey?” 

The pureblood shakes her feelings of jealousy off and steels herself for the night ahead. It’s barely even started, and she already feels like leaving. With a heavy sigh and a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, she turns back to Freya.

“Sorry,” she apologies softly. “What were you saying?” 

Freya and Keelin give her not-quite knowing smiles, but they don’t comment. Hope is grateful. 

An hour passes, then two. 

Dinner gets served, Hope doesn’t eat. The headmaster makes a grand speech, Hope doesn’t hear. Students crowd the dessert and drink table, Hope doesn’t follow. They drain the punch bowl of every last drop. It refills itself, Penelope Park spikes it again. The urge to get drunk off her ass is tempting. Hope doesn’t. The dance floor remains empty for the most part, Hope keeps it that way. A few brave people go to dance, like Rose and Ethan, Hope doesn’t join them. 

That leaves her here. By herself. Watching all her friends have fun. Watching _Josie_ have fun. 

Funny. Josie’s sister ends up bringing Milton Greasley as her date. The blonde is wearing a pretty, blue ball gown with a white, fluffy overcoat. Normally, Hope wouldn’t notice, but Josie trips over her heels and accidentally spills pumpkin juice on the overcoat. The sisters instantly clean it up with a spell, and Hope wouldn’t care, but the person that catches Josie when she trips is Madeline Raichter. 

Her date. 

That is _not_ Hope. 

Vomit. That’s what jealousy tastes like. There is no green-eyed monster. The monster was her all along. Hope feels sick to her stomach. Absolutely miserable. She wants to leave. Her throat closes up. She can’t. Funny? Not funny at all. 

Her eyes stay on Josie. Willing her to look her way, for just a second. The other girl is at the dessert and drink table now. She’s alone. Tempting. Like the punch. 

Hope holds back a smile as Josie looks around the room before sneaking a brownie between her lips. She stares. A part of her wants the brunette to catch her. 

It feels like static when their eyes finally meet. Brown on blue. A mistake. In an instant, it’s over. As if Josie barely glanced in her direction. As if—

A mistake. Nothing, really. How can something so small be so hard to forget? 

Hope continues to watch her silently for a few seconds, her hands twitching at her sides as she forces herself to stay away, as she holds back and resists the urge to talk to Josie, to get close enough to breathe the same air as her. 

The muggleborn is only a few feet away. Hope would only have to take a couple of steps in order to reach her. She shakes her head, in part to clear her thoughts and in part to deny the impulse to approach her. 

Because that would be putting Josie in danger. 

Right?

Yet...

She can’t seem to focus on anything else. Not Landon—where the fuck is he?—or even herself. Hope steps forward and makes a decision, if only to warn the other girl about the punch. No one will have to know. Maybe no one will even notice. 

The step after that is even easier than the first. The pureblood sneaks up behind Josie, staying silent as the brunette picks up the punch bowl ladle and pours a generous amount of juice into her cup. 

Hope clears her throat. 

“Would you like to dance?”

She keeps her voice soft and quiet, but she still manages to startle Josie somehow. It’s a subtle hint to that first Halloween night, so many weeks ago and so, so far away, but Hope can remember it as if it was just yesterday. 

The muggleborn must not miss it either. Hope notices that she doesn’t turn around, but she jolts forward and almost drops her cup.

“Careful,” the pureblood warns in a low murmur, eyeing the bowl of juice with amusement. “Park spiked the punch.” 

She can’t tell for certain, but she’s pretty sure that Josie blushes. The edges of her cheeks are stained with pink, but it could just be a trick of the light. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me,” the brunette says. 

Hope watches Josie set her cup back down on the drink table, but not before taking a small sip. She screws her face up at the taste. The pureblood tries not to laugh. 

“I guess you could say I’ve gotten over myself,” she tells Josie, referring to their conversation earlier, when the muggleborn had told her to let her know when she wanted to stop being an ass. 

“Well...” Josie trails off and turns to leave. Stubborn. She always has been. They both are. “I haven’t.” 

Before the brunette can move away, Hope places her hand on top of Josie’s own on the table, hidden by the punch bowl. The nerves and muscles jump under her fingers. She revels in the warm skin beneath hers. 

“Don’t be like that,” Hope whispers, leaning in. Not enough to look suspicious and attract attention, but enough. Enough. “All I want to do is talk to you. How is your night going?” 

Josie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and sighs quietly. She slips her hand out from underneath Hope’s. It’s for the best, the pureblood reminds herself. Merlin forbid someone notice that that they’re holding hands. 

“Okay,” Josie says, voice small. Hope can barely breathe for her closeness. Her smell drowns her. Dark chocolate and something even sweeter. Just like that first night. “It’s been kind of boring, actually. I gave my parents a tour with my sister a couple of hours ago. Lizzie and Dad wouldn’t step foot in the common room, but my mom let me show her around when everyone else left. She thought it was cool in the dark, kind of goth way, I guess?” 

Hope chuckles underneath her breath. Josie looks like she wants to turn around and glare at her for it, but she doesn’t. 

“Mom helped me get ready, too,” the muggleborn continues, wringing her hands together with a smile playing at her lips. “She braided my hair and everything. I think she’s starting to get used to the idea of me being in Slytherin.” 

Hope presses her lips together so she doesn’t accidentally smile. If someone looks over and sees her smiling with Josie, it might look bad. Is it worse that the pureblood wants them to get caught? 

“It looks beautiful,” Hope tells her. Josie glances at her in confusion. “Your hair, I mean, but everything else, too.” 

She lowers her voice, just above a whisper. “You’re beautiful,” she says. Josie struggles to hide a grin. It makes Hope want to turn her around, so that they can be eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart. For now, she’ll settle with staring at the punch bowl as they talk in hushed voices. 

“Thank you,” the muggleborn whispers back, fiddling with the necklace Hope got her. “You, too.” 

Hope smiles and blushes, just a little. Then, after a beat of silence, Josie asks, “Is everything okay with your mom?” 

Hope hums in response. Her mother is the furthest thing from her mind right now. She needs to make sure that she and Josie are okay. That the brunette doesn’t secretly hate her, that she knows that Hope cares for her. 

“Are you still upset with me?” she blurts out, in a voice like smoke. The words crack at the very edges, unable to hide the longing behind them. 

“No,” Josie says, like it’s easy. And maybe it always has been. Maybe it’s Hope, that was always making things harder for herself. “You know I can’t be mad at you for longer than a second before I get upset with myself for it.” 

Hope nods and tightens her fingers around the edge of the table. She clenches her jaw and blinks. Resists the urge to look at Josie and comfort her. 

“I’m just...tired,” the brunette admits. Hope glances at her in surprise, not expecting something so honest. “I wish things didn’t have to be this way. I wish my love for you could be enough, but it isn’t. I want more. I want to hold your hand in public and dance with you. I want to kiss you without causing a scene. I just—I want more.” 

Hope feels the words like a physical hit. Her heart throbs painfully in her chest. She grabs the punch ladle and pours herself a cup to distract herself, filling it to the rim. She downs almost all of it in one go, trying to savor the sting the alcohol in it leaves behind in her throat. 

“I want more, too,” she mutters bitterly, voice rough from the drink. 

She turns to face the room and sweeps her gaze over the dance floor. Everyone looks happy. Like they’re having fun. “Maybe, when this is all over, we’ll be able to give each other it.” 

“When?” Josie shakes her head with a laugh like a scoff. “I think you mean _if_.” 

Hope watches her for a short moment before she catches herself and looks away again. Her family is on the other side of the room, laughing and chatting with each other happily. The pureblood feels vomit rise in her throat. 

“Where is this even going?” Josie asks. “Not anywhere. We can’t keep hiding this our entire lives. We can’t keep pretending that we mean nothing to each other.” 

She’s right. Hope knows that she’s right. But they can try. They can try. 

“I know,” she says, unable to deny the truth, even though she wants to. Her tongue feels too heavy in her mouth. Something bursts in her chest and begs to escape. It tastes a bit like punch. 

“Run away with me?” she blurts out. And instantly wonders why. She would never say something like that. At least, she would never say it out loud. “After we finish school? I’ll need to move some things around, but I can take care of us—“ 

“I couldn’t,” Josie cuts her off gently. “I could never leave behind my friends and family.” 

“I know,” Hope repeats, even more bitterly than the last time. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I just, I need you to be patient with me, okay? Just wait. Things will get better, I promise. In the meantime, we have to keep _pretending_.” 

“Pretending...” She sucks in a breath. “That I hate you, and that you hate me. Okay?” 

“But I—“ Josie whirls around before realizing that they’re still in public. She lowers her voice and whispers urgently, “I love you, Hope. I love you.” 

“I know.” And it’s Hope, this time. 

She keeps her eyes on the floor, knowing that they’re starting to attract a little bit of attention from the people around them. They probably just think that Hope Mikaelson and Josie Saltzman are fighting again. It should come as a relief, but Hope...

She hates it. 

“But we can’t let anyone else know that,” she tells Josie. “So, when I say that I hate you, just know that it means I hate myself for it, and that I love you more than anything else.” 

Josie chokes out a wet laugh and wipes suspiciously at her eyes. Hope doesn’t glance over, afraid that the other girl might be crying. If she is, Hope doesn’t want to see it. 

“God,” Josie whispers out, like her words have taken the breath right out of her lungs. She sounds almost fond. She massages her throat and gives Hope a watery smile. “Even chocolate frogs?” 

Hope suppresses a smirk. Just barely. Josie doesn’t have to hide her smile since she’s facing the table, but Hope is facing everyone else. “Even chocolate frogs.” 

That makes Josie laugh, too. It sounds like relief. Hope doesn’t waste time. 

“So you’ll wait for me?” she asks. She gets the sudden urge to lean closer and press their bodies together, but she doesn’t. Even though she wants to. Fuck, she wants to. “Please?” 

“I will,” Josie tells her, with something of a sly smirk herself. “But only because you’re so cute when you beg.” 

“_Oh_?” Hope’s eyes darken. She looks around the great hall, only to check if anyone is watching. It seems that everyone has lost interest in them. She smirks and tilts her head to the side innocently. “Should I get down on my knees and do a proper job of it?” 

Josie wrinkles her nose and chokes down a laugh. 

“I can’t tell if you’re being nasty or if you’re trying to propose again,” she says, covering her face to hide her giggles. 

Hope blushes. The proposal is a bit of sore subject for her. She really wishes Josie would stop bringing it up. 

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbles. Josie laughs even harder, which starts to get some attention. When she notices, she immediately moves away from Hope and the pureblood follows suit. 

“Listen, save me a dance, alright?” Hope asks, as they part. Her stomach squirms. Upset that their conversation is over. Upset that she might not talk to Josie for the rest of the night.She waited three hours for her. She’ll wait a lifetime. “I didn’t spend hours teaching you just to hand you off to someone else.” 

Josie rolls her eyes playfully, looking just as hesitant to walk away. She lingers. 

“We’ll see,” she tells Hope, stepping back once, then twice. She finally faces away from the pureblood, forcing Hope to stare at the bare skin of her shoulders as she leaves. 

Hope watches her go with a warmth in her chest that wasn’t there before. Before the other girl can get too far, Hope grows restless and calls her back. She blames it on the punch.

“Saltzman!” 

A few people around them look over. When they see that Hope was the one who called out the name, they keep watching. Some even start to whisper. Josie turns her head over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow. 

Hope puts on a cool, blank mask, even as her eyes dance with mirth. “I hate you,” she says. 

Josie hides a smile. The brown of her eyes are bright when they meet Hope’s own blue ones. It makes her breath hitch in relief. 

“I hate you more.” 

She turns away again and this time, she doesn’t look back. Hope has to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from grinning. 

“What was that?” 

A sudden voice on her right startles her, but Hope doesn’t show it. She glances to the side and watches Penelope Park stir the punch bowl out of the corner of her eye. 

“We were just talking,” Hope says, wishing it could have been more than just talking, wishing it could have been—

Wait.

What the fuck? She had meant to tell Penelope to fuck off or something, or lie to her face and _then_ tell her to fuck off. Certainly not to tell the truth and give the girl information. 

“About what?” Penelope asks, voice deceptively casual. 

Once again, Hope finds her mouth opening by itself. “About having to pretend,” she blurts out, before she can stop herself. She instantly clenches her teeth together and wonders why her lips are so loose. 

“Oh.” Penelope smirks and motions to her cup with the ladle. “More punch?” 

Hope narrows her eyes. The words make her do a double-take. 

“No, thank you,” she grits out politely. She stares into the bowl of punch and loses herself in the red swirls. “What’d you spike it with, anyway?” 

Penelope turns to her, surprised. 

“I saw you earlier,” Hope explains. She watches the other girl carefully for her reaction. “Very sneaky, by the way.” 

Penelope seems to take that as a compliment. Her smirk grows a shadow wider. 

“Thank you.” She stops stirring the punch and drops the ladle. “A mix of basilisk vodka and a little bit of something else.” 

Hope suppresses the instinct to raise her eyebrows, not wanting to show her own surprise. Basilisk vodka is pretty strong, yet she wasn’t able to taste it in the punch except for a slight sting at the back of her throat.

“Something else?” she asks. She looks at Penelope, but the other girl’s eyes aren’t on Hope. They’re focused on a spot across the hall, where Josie Saltzman is talking to her parents with her date. Hope sighs. She was hoping Madeline would just ditch Josie until the mandatory dance. 

Next to her, Penelope sighs, too. 

“You’ll see,” is all the witch says. 

Hope doesn’t like the sound of that very much. She sets her drink down warily and motions for one of the elf servers to come bring her a flute of champagne. The elf isn’t one she recognizes, so she just takes a glass off of his tray and thanks him quietly. 

Hope sneaks another glance at Josie, heart snapping desperately in her chest when she catches a glimpse of the hand Madeline is pressing to the small of the muggleborn’s back. 

She raises the champagne glass to her lips and takes a small sip the best she can around the frown on her face. She lowers the glass almost instantly. 

Her frown deepens. 

It’s apple cider. 

—

Rebekah Mikaelson is certain that it’s a boy, eating her niece from the inside out. Or a girl. She can faintly remember Freya making some passing comment that Hope is into girls now, too. 

So, _yes_. She is sure that someone is to blame for how stiff and high-strung her niece is acting as of late. The girl hadn’t even hugged Rebekah when she greeted her. Hadn’t even hugged any of her family members at all, really. 

There has to be a reason why her niece is walking around like there’s a stick up her ass. No. Rebekah knows. It must be _someone_. Someone getting underneath the girl’s skin, someone causing her to ignore her own date and pretend that he doesn’t even exist. 

And if it is someone, the woman knows that they’ll be here. 

At the ball. 

They have to be. 

_Everyone_ is here. Students. Parents. Family. 

Rebekah looks around the great hall with narrowed eyes. She lets her gaze fall on her niece, who is with one of her friends. Rebekah searches her memory for the name.

Oh, right. Penelope Park. They don’t appear to be talking, but both of them are looking in the same direction. Peculiar. 

Rebekah follows their eyes and finds a young girl in a pink dress that falls to her feet. A blonde is with her, and two adults with them, both in muggle wear. The woman can faintly recognize the male one, but she doesn’t know where from. His beard disguises him. 

Yes. 

Rebekah is sure, now. Hope is staring at the girl. Her eyes never once leave her, if only to glance at the blonde—the girl’s date?—with something like...jealousy? No. That can’t be right. 

Rebekah looks closer and licks her lips curiously. She realizes that she recognizes the girl, back from the incident with little Pedro in the Slytherin common room. She can distinctly remember being intrigued by the girl’s use of wandless magic. 

Hmm. 

What was her name? 

Jackie? Joanne? No, none of those sound quite right. She hadn’t been paying much attention. All Rebekah can truly remember is that the girl is a muggleborn. So, then, why is Hope looking at her like this? 

So..._intensely_? 

The muggleborn must feel Hope’s eyes on her, because she turns her head and glances over her shoulder. Both Hope and Penelope startle up and look away, as if caught staring or worse. 

They glance at each other and laugh almost nervously, before muttering a few words of parting and walking away from each other. 

Rebekah takes her chance. She sets her glass of wine down on the table in front of her and moves towards her niece. 

“Who is she to you?” she asks. Hope looks surprised at the words. She jerks her head up and jumps a little, choking on her drink. 

“Who?” A pink tint flushes her cheeks. It travels down her face and scorches her neck as Rebekah continues to stare blankly, expectantly, at her. Waiting for her to crack. To expose herself. 

“That girl.” Rebekah points with her eyes. She watches Hope turn her body away from her to look over. Her niece’s gaze lingers on the muggleborn for a little too long, as if she can’t quite help herself. Rebekah smirks. “You’re glaring daggers at her date, yet you’ve been ignoring your own all night.” 

“And,” she adds, “from what I’ve seen, you’ve been staring at the girl herself for the past five minutes. I don’t know about you, but the only man I stare at like that is my husband.” 

Hope’s jaw clenches. Just enough. Rebekah obviously hit a nerve. Good.

“She’s muggleborn, right?” the woman continues. She watches as Hope jerks her head down in a single, stiff nod. “So, then, why can’t you keep your eyes off of her?”

Her niece goes rigid. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, looking at her feet. Her eyes are dark and clouded. Like the night sky above them. 

Rebekah glances up to the ceiling and watches a snowflake fall. The stars are dimmer than she remembers. 

“You’re my niece, Hope. I _know_ you.” She looks back to Hope. Her gaze is warm. Understanding. “You care about her.” 

Hope snaps her eyes over in panic. “It’s not what you think,” she blurts. It sounds more like a plea than anything else. Rebekah smiles. The words are familiar. How long ago was it that she said them herself? 

She glances back over at her niece. Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head to the side. “Isn’t it?” 

Hope blinks, seemingly uncaring. But Rebekah knows that it can’t be further from the truth. 

“You look at her when you think she can’t see you, nor anyone else. You can’t help it,” _and neither could I,_ she thinks. “You’re jealous of her date but you won’t admit it. Merlin knows where your own is.” 

The words hang in the air and Hope studies her for a beat. 

She opens her mouth. “I...” 

She closes it. Her blown pupils give her away. 

“Thought so.” Rebekah smirks. She realizes that they’re standing too far apart to have this conversation. She could cast a silencing spell, but that might come off as suspicious if anyone around them noticed.   


“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she decides. “You’re going to come stand a little closer to me while I tell you a story. No matter how upsetting it gets, you’re going to keep a smile on your face and nod every now and then.” 

Hope swallows hard. Rebekah can see the way her throat bobs as she steps closer, looking every bit the trapped, scared animal she must feel like. 

“What’s her name, then?” Rebekah asks, nodding her head off in the direction of the muggleborn girl subtly. A muscle in Hope’s jaw twitches. 

“Josie—“ She stops herself short. The slip-up almost makes Rebekah smile. “Josette.” 

“_Josette_,” the woman repeats, as if trying the name out for herself. A nostalgic smile touches her lips. 

“Matthew.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her niece snap her head over in surprise.

“That was mine,” Rebekah tells her, still smiling. Her stomach clenches at the memory. Decades later, and it still hurts just like yesterday. “But he let me call him Matt.” 

“We met in the winter, back in my school years, the exact details escape me.” They didn’t escape her. Rebekah was just scared that she might start crying if she went into them. “He was everything. Cute. Sweet. Charming. It only took me a few days to fall in love with him. The one problem? He had never heard of magic before.” 

Hope clears her throat. “He...he was a muggle?” She whispers the words, like they’re taboo. 

Rebekah nods. 

“I tried to hide him,” she says. She looks around the great hall to give her something to do. On the dance floor, Stefan Salvatore is spinning his wife around. She thinks of him and his betrayal. Not to his blood, but to _her_. It leaves a bitter taste in the back of her throat. To this day. “I swore to myself that I would protect him. We only met once a month. Never in public. Always the same spot. Maybe that’s where I went wrong. Maybe—“ 

She cuts herself off. “I never mentioned his name. I didn’t dare to even _think_ of him around your father and your uncles,” she continues, like she never paused to begin with. “I was afraid that they could tell.” 

“For all my efforts...” The woman lets out a bitter laugh. “It didn’t take long for Nik to find out about him. He tortured him with your uncle Kol. I screamed, begged them to spare him. They laughed at me. The girl who loved too easily. They claimed it was to teach me a lesson, but all it ever did was make me resent my own family. When they were done with him, Matt knew not my favorite color, nor my name. He couldn’t even recognize me, but at least he was alive.”

Rebekah blinks quickly to quell the tears rising in her eyes. She can feel her niece’s own glaring into the side of her head. The woman can’t bare to look her in the eye. She had never told this story before. She never wants to again. 

“Why didn’t they just kill him?” Hope asks. 

“Because then I could have _mourned_,” Rebekah says simply. “You cannot grieve a person that still lives. You can never get over it. Nik knew that.” 

“Why did you tell me this?” Her niece’s jaw is trembling. Her voice sounds rough. Her eyes are wet, desperate. Rebekah wants to apologize, but she can’t find the words. “Just to remind me of what I can never have?” 

“No.” Rebekah wants to reach over and comfort the girl, but she can’t. Not here. Maybe she should have never brought it up somewhere so public, but she needed to get it over with. “No, Hope.” 

“The point is...” She takes a deep breath without looking at the girl. Instead, she stares up at the ceiling. The night sky is beautiful. It reminds her of Matthew’s eyes. Bright. Full of life. Dimmer, now. “My time with Matt is well over. You—_you_ are not so unfortunate, but you have to be careful. Do you understand?” 

Hope freezes. It takes her a few seconds to respond. 

“Yes,” she says, at last. “Yes, I think so.” 

—

After her talk with her aunt, Hope returns to her friends, who were trying to wave her down for most of the night. It’s not like she was ignoring them, it’s just that...

Whatever. 

“Hey.” Maya Machado pops up next to her, elbowing her in the side. “Having fun?” 

In that moment, Hope thinks of her aunt, Rebekah. 

In all honesty, she doesn’t know how she made it out of that conversation without crying. It certainly wasn’t anything she had ever expected. Rebekah’s comments about muggles and muggleborns had never been demure, and her opinion on blood status hadbeen more than clear, but there was always something deeper there, something bitter Hope could never figure out. Now, she knows why. 

“Hope?” Maya stares at her, eyebrows knitted in concern. “I asked if you were having fun.” 

“No,” the pureblood deadpans. She doesn’t get the reaction she expects. Instead of scoffing and walking away, Maya smiles. 

“Here,” she says, eyes twinkling. “I have something to make you feel better.” 

The other girl flashes a silver flask hiding underneath her dress. Hope resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Firewhiskey.” Maya winks. “Your favorite.” 

Hope stares at her, considering the offer in her head. It would be so easy...

No. She can’t afford to get drunk. She needs to keep her head on straight for her meeting with Malivore. If she embarrasses herself and her family, she’ll never live it down. 

“No, thanks.” Hope barely glances at her friend. She waves her off dismissively. “I can’t get drunk off my ass tonight. I need to stay focused.” 

“For what?” Maya asks. A small pout downturns her lips. 

Hope shrugs. “Nothing.” 

Out of nowhere, Penelope Park appears on her other side. Hope feels trapped between the two of them. 

“Yeah, _Mikaelson_.” Penelope smirks. Hope doesn’t like the way she says her name. “For what?” 

For some reason, Hope opens her damn mouth. 

“For my meeting with Clarke’s father,” she blurts out. She immediately clamps her jaw shut and—

Fuck. That’s the third time she hasn’t been able to lie to Penelope. It’s suspicious. She was able to lie to Rebekah, or at least try to, and just a moment ago, she lied to Maya. Why can’t she lie to Penelope? 

Her thoughts wander back to the punch bowl and the image of Penelope spiking it. No. It can’t be. The girl can’t be that deranged. Yet...

“Interesting,” Penelope murmurs darkly. She looks like she wants to say or ask more, but over at the staff table, Headmaster Dumbledore stands up and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“I hope everyone is enjoying their night and having fun, but not too much fun, of course,” the old man says. His eyes sparkle bright and amused, like they always tend to do. They roam over the students and guests before landing on Penelope. “Yes, I am aware that a student among you has decided to take it upon themselves to liven up the night a little. If you could please direct your attention to the drink table, you will find—rather unfortunately—that the punch juice our kitchen staff concocted for this evening has been tainted with alcohol.” 

A few low chuckles and snickers start to spread out across the hall. All of Hope’s friends start laughing, but the pureblood only smirks. 

“...To my knowledge, my Potions Master has confirmed that it is nothing bad. The rest of my staff is attempting to devise the culprit of this practical joke as we speak.” Dumbledore gives a pointed look to Penelope again. “That being said, we do not wish to ruin the fun for anyone. All we ask is that any student under the drinking age please stay away from the punch table, otherwise we are willing to turn a blind eye as long as your parents are okay with it.” 

Someone on the other side of the room whoops and starts clapping. Hope rolls her eyes as everyone starts laughing again.

“Yes,” Dumbledore chuckles. “Thank you, thank you.” 

“Now,” the man continues. “While there has been much feasting and conversations going around, there hasn’t been much dancing, and what is a ball for, if not to dance?” 

Hope groans out loud at that, along with the rest of the room. So far, she had been able to avoid making a fool of herself out on the dance floor.

“Oh, no, none of that, please.” Dumbledore chuckles again, clearly amused. “Those that are sitting down, please stand up. Those that are standing up, you know what to do. Yes. If everyone could please find their chosen dates for the evening and make their way over to the dance floor, it is time for our school’s traditional waltz, the one I’m sure you have all been waiting for...” 

Hope doesn’t think that’s even remotely true. She’s been dreading it all night. Dreading doing it with Landon, who is sneaking glances at her from across the room right now.

She sighs and meets his gaze. His friends are looking over, too. They all stand with him, shooting glares at Hope and her own friends. Josie is the only one smiling besides Landon. Caroline Salvatore is whispering something to her, while her husband talks to Josie’s parents.It looks like he has a good relationship with her dad, but the mother looks like a bit out of place. 

“I have to go get Hunter,” Rose says, somewhere next to Hope, or maybe far away. She dismisses herself from the group and goes off to find her own date, a muggleborn in Ravenclaw. Penelope herself snatched a halfblood in the same house, while Maya chose someone in Hufflepuff. That leaves Hope alone with Landon.

Luckily enough, the boy approaches her instead of her approaching him, so she doesn’t have to worry about meeting any of his friends. 

He holds out his arm and they find a place on the dance floor. A few feet away, Hope watches Josie get into position with her own date. The triple meter rhythm of the waltz begins to play in the background. 

Landon’s fumbling hand finds her waist. Hope wrinkles her nose. She hopes his sweaty palm doesn’t leave a stain on her dress. She steps back as Landon steps forward, and fuck—

He sucks at dancing. He steps on the tip of her toe peeking out of her high heel, and Hope hides a wince. He doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Is this okay?” Landon asks. “I had my friend teach me—“

“It’s fine,” Hope cuts him off curtly, even though his thoughtfulness should make her blush. It should make her feel warm in the chest, but all she feels is empty. She really doesn’t feel like having a conversation. She just wants to get this over with. 

When Landon steps on her foot again as she spins back to him, Hope knows that this will be the longest five minutes of her life. That, and watching Josie laugh with Madeline across from her. What’s so funny? Hope wonders. They’re supposed to be dancing. Not laughing. 

Well, the pureblood supposes, it looks like they’re plenty good at both. Josie doesn’t once step on her date’s toes. Hope suddenly misses the dull ache she’d feel in her feet after dancing with Josie. Josie always stepped on her toes. Now she misses it. 

It was cute and endearing when Josie did it, Hope admits, but Landon is just plain fucking annoying. 

He steps on her feet for the last time. 

“Oh my fucking _God_,” Hope snaps, her accent thick with her anger. “Can you _stop_?” 

Oh. Oh _no_. It just slipped out. A habit she picked up from Josie. An accident. 

Landon’s eyes jolt up to her own in shock. He drops his mouth open. “Did you just—“ 

The music crescendos and everyone switches partners with the people around them, as the traditional wizard’s waltz calls for. Landon spins her into the arms of Roman Sienna. Some other couples choose to stick to their partners, while Hope lets herself go. 

“Sienna.” 

She dips her head down in a nod of acknowledgment. Roman does the same. 

“Mikaelson.” 

In another life, he could have been her date. A part of her wishes he was. If they had come here together instead, he wouldn’t have stepped on her feet like Landon, and she wouldn’t have slipped up and yelled a muggle term at him. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Roman asks. He’s a good dancer. The palms of his hands aren’t sweaty, either. 

Hope shrugs. “You?” 

The boy laughs bitterly. “If only.” 

She doesn’t ask him to explain himself, and Roman doesn’t try to. They dance silently for about a minute or so, Hope secretly leading him to the right, where Rose and another girl are dancing. 

When the music turns, she takes Rose’s hand and spins her to her own body. The halfblood laughs when she sees her.

“Hey—“

“I made a mistake,” Hope cuts her off. “I think I slipped up in front of Kirby.” 

“Slipped up?” Rose widens her eyes. “_Oh_.” 

She instantly tries to make her feel better. “He probably didn’t notice, right? It’ll be okay.”

“He did,” Hope says. Rose squeezes her hand in her own. A silent apology. They’re quiet for a few seconds. Hope takes the time to look over her friend. 

The girl is wearing a silver dress with long sleeves that reach her wrist, the fabric soft and flowing around her legs like the morning mist before a day of rain. Hope wants to compliment her, but she can’t find the words. She hopes Rose knows that she looks amazing. 

“My father wants you to stay over at the manor this break,” Hope speaks up, glancing back to Josie. She’s dancing with Rafael Waithe, now. The pureblood has to hold in a laugh when the giant of a boy stomps over her feet. His hand looks like a bear claw on her waist. 

“Really?” 

Hope turns back to Rose. Looks her in the eye slowly. Tries to gauge her reaction, how she feels about the offer. “Yes...?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Rose tells her. Hope bites her lip. 

“Say yes,” she murmurs, pausing as they step off to the right. Even closer to Josie. Hope is sure they might be able to dance together if she gets her timing right. At least once. “I know you were planning on staying here for the holidays.” 

Rose quirks an eyebrow. “I guess you leave me no choice,” she teases with a smirk. 

Hope chuckles softly. 

“Whatever.” She sneaks another peek at Josie. Rose looks over her shoulder and follows her gaze. “Help me steal my girlfriend away from that moron.” 

“That’s not very nice.” Hope doesn’t bat an eyelash. She can’t care any less. Rose sighs. “Are you sure?” 

Hope only hesitates a second before nodding. They slowly edge over to the other couple, and when the music shifts again, Rose lets their hands disconnect and pushes her towards Josie. Thankfully, Rafael lets her go and Josie falls into her arms. 

Hope snatches the muggleborn away from him greedily. Josie lets out a soft gasp in surprise at the hungry look in her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, her cheeks a bit flushed from the move, but she allows Hope to lose them both in the large crowd. 

The pureblood doesn’t have a very good excuse. What does she say? That she couldn’t take a second more of watching Josie dance with someone else? That she thought she might die if she didn’t get to touch her again? 

The truth is, she just wants to dance. She wants to hold Josie in her arms and lose herself in the feeling. She wishes that this was her life, this sham of a waltz, she wishes with all her cowardly heart that they could dance forever. 

“I wanted to tell you something,” Hope decides at last, but she has no idea what.

She pulls Josie as close as their bodies will let them without looking suspicious. The brunette sucks in a sharp breath and leans against her chest. Hope suddenly can’t remember who she is, where she is, or who she came with. All she can think about is Josie. 

“Yes?” 

Hope stares at the brunette blankly. She lost track of their conversation. “Sorry?” 

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me,” Josie murmurs, looking both amused and concerned. 

“Oh.” Hope scrambles for something to say. Anything. “I think Penelope Park spiked the punch with some kind of truth serum.” 

Josie swallows. “She _what_?” 

Hope nods.

“I’m not quite sure,” she admits, “but it’s weird. I just know that I can’t seem to lie to her.” 

“Are you serious?” Josie knits her eyebrows together. Hope kind of regrets blurting that one out. The muggleborn looks mad. “She’s been trying to talk to me all night.” 

She’s been _what_? Hope feels her blood start to boil. She shrugs off her fury and realizes that they’ve been dancing together for too long. People are starting to notice. 

“I don’t know,” she settles on saying. She can start to feel Josie pulling back. Their fingers are slipping away. “Just be careful, okay?” 

Josie nods. Hope watches her glance down to her lips as they form the words. She wonders what would happen if she kissed Josie in front of everyone. 

“Okay.” 

It’s Josie that spins her, this time. She stumbles right into the arms of—

“Miss Mikaelson.” 

Hope freezes. How she manages to not trip over her own feet, the pureblood doesn’t know. 

“Mister Clarke.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read this through so many times that i convinced myself that i hate it, hopefully you all like it at least a little bit :)
> 
> thanks for reading, i should have another chapter out soon


	53. Chapter 53

The man in front of her is just like she remembers.  


Cold. Emotionless. Both nothing and _everything_ like his son. Hope fights to not squirm away from his touch. His hand in her own feels slimy. Staring into his grey, dead eyes makes a shiver run down her spine. 

“Are you well?” Hope isn’t sure his mouth even moves when he asks it. His jaw is set like stone, his face squared off into a brick. She can tell that he was handsome, maybe sometime in his life, but his age has caught up to him in all the wrong places. Wrinkles are etched into his skin, like cracks in dried mud. 

“Very,” Hope says, even though she knows he doesn’t care. “Thank you for meeting with—“ 

“I won’t waste your time,” Malivore cuts her off, “and I hope you won’t waste mine.” 

The dance shifts and he spins her across the floor, but his hold on her tightens and his grip stays firm. He doesn’t let her go to the next partner like he’s supposed to, and only pulls her back to his own body. 

“I believe we have a common goal, and even more, I believe I have a plan to achieve this goal,” he tells her. Hope absently thinks that her fingers feel chilled in his own. “I am willing to share it with you. Your father tells me that you can be trusted. Is that true?” 

“Yes.” Hope nods stiffly. She hates him. Merlin, she hates _this_. “Of course, sir.” 

Malivore smiles. It’s unnerving. Hope has the thought that that it doesn’t fit him. 

“Good.” 

Hope’s jaw ticks.

“I have a friend in the ministry,” the man reveals. Hope keeps her eyes over his left shoulder, scared that he’ll see right through her if she looks him in the eye. “From the Department of Mysteries. He informs me that the staff of this school are keeping a secret prophecy among their ranks. I fear that this prophecy is being kept so because it concerns us.” 

The prophecy? 

_ Us?  _

Oh no.

Hope swallows and nods, trying to hide her lack of a reaction. It’s been a long time since she thought about the prophecy, and it shows. Malivore doesn’t seem to miss it. He narrows his eyes. 

“You don’t look surprised,” he observes. They step off to the side. _One, two, three,_ Hope counts in her head. She wants to close her eyes and pretend that she’s dancing with Josie. 

“No, sir,” she tells Malivore quietly. Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. She hardly recognizes it. “I heard about it a few months ago, along with the rest of the school. We were told that it was a mistake.” 

Malivore frowns. 

“Do not be fooled, Miss Mikaelson.” _One, two, three, turn._ “The prophecy is real.” 

He pauses and watches carefully for her reaction. Hope doesn’t show a damn thing.

“Although,” he says slowly, looking deep in thought. “My informer in the ministry was unable to come by much information. As it is, I would like your assistance with analyzing the prophecy, but first I need your help to find it. Your father seems to think that you can be useful, and I hope that he’s right. I am personally making it your responsibility to keep an eye on the headmaster and his staff when you come back from break. I will be writing to you through your father once a month. Report back anything you find in your letters. Can you do this for me?” 

What is Hope supposed to say? _No?_ Like she has a choice? No. She has no choice at all. She doesn’t. She needs to say yes. For her father. For her family.

“Yes.” 

Another smile. This one more sicker than the last. Hope feels vomit work its way up her throat and leave a bitter taste in her mouth. 

“Perfect,” the man clips. “There is more that I should mention.” 

Hope nods for him to continue. It feels like moving stone. 

“As I’m sure you understand,” Malivore says, “Hogwarts is not just a school, but a symbol. Of innocence. I think you and I are both smart enough to know that innocence in the hands of evil is ignorance. Since its establishment, Hogwarts’ founders have allowed the students they so claim to teach, to go uneducated. They have allowed, and even _encouraged_, them to look true evil in the eye and cower away, in the name of protection. It is simply not responsible.” 

He shakes his head. His composure starts to slip. Hope can see the anger in his tight smile. 

“Why offer a Muggle Studies course, but nothing for the Sacred Twenty-Eight?” he asks, to no one in particular. “Why teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but not the Dark Arts in question? There is no true education here, no true preparation for the real world at large. You agree with me, yes?” 

All Hope can do is nod. She can’t trust her voice. Her throat feels oddly closed up. 

“There is a way for us to fix it,” Malivore continues, “and make no mistake, it will take time. I could use the help of you and your friends, but I have to ask. If I were to have a plan to infiltrate the school in a few months, could I have full faith in your involvement? Or will your loyalty be something I have to worry about?” 

Hope feels her heart drop to her stomach. 

_ Infiltrate the school?  _

What the fuck does that mean? 

She gets the sudden urge to warn everyone, to push Malivore off of her and run away, but she feels stuck to her spot, stuck in this shadow of a dance. She can’t get her feet to stop moving, can’t stop the waltz. _One, two, three_—

“I can assure you,” she says slowly. “My loyalty isn’t a question.” 

Malivore watches her for a few seconds, like he’s really, _really_ looking at her. The seconds pass, and he smiles again, seemingly happy with her answer. Satisfied. 

“That’s good to hear,” the man tells her. His gaze sweeps around the room behind her. He’s looking for something. _Someone_. “Now, my son tells me that there is someone you would like to introduce me to?” 

Oh. 

Landon.

Hope forgot that she was supposed to be introducing him to Malivore tonight. Well, not really. More like, she was hoping Malivore would forget. 

The man’s tone is deceptively nonchalant. He knows exactly what he’s asking. They both do. 

“Yes, sir.” Hope nods. She sweeps her eyes over the great hall, for what must be the hundredth time tonight. Except, this time, she isn’t looking for Josie. “I want you to meet Landon Kirby, my date.” 

Malivore leads her to the edge of the dance floor, slowing their steps to a seamless, complete stop. Hope spots Landon on the other side of the room, spinning Elizabeth Saltzman wildly around. She wrinkles her nose as he steps on her feet. The blonde seems to snap at him for it. 

It makes Hope want to laugh, but she manages to hide it when Landon suddenly glances over and their eyes meet. Hope nods her head back in a subtle gesture for him to come over to her. Landon looks unsure, but he gets the hint and excuses himself from the dance. 

The boy makes his way over to them with slow steps, glancing around nervously. Hope wants to roll her eyes at his lack of confidence, but she won’t in front of a man like Malivore. It’s not proper etiquette. 

“Hi?” 

Landon darts his eyes between Hope and Malivore, a silent question in them. He obviously has no idea why Hope called him over. That seems to please Malivore, whose smile looks almost genuine. 

Hope turns it over in her head, but she can’t make any sense of it. For now, she decides to just soothe Landon’s worries and think about it later. Normally, she wouldn’t care to make him feel better, but she wants this introduction to go as smoothly as possible. 

“Landon,” she says, trying for a smile. She places a hand on his shoulder and rubs his back to reassure him. “This is—“ 

“Hi, Landon,” Malivore cuts her off. He only has eyes for the boy. “I’m Malivore Clarke.” 

“Hello,” Landon greets back hesitantly, but he looks at Hope. His eyes are wide like he’s scared that they’re playing a trick on him or something. Hope gives him a pointed look to keep talking. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Clarke—“ 

“Nonsense,” Malivore interrupts, with an even wider smile than before. Landon looks surprised. “You can call me Mal.” 

Hope raises her eyebrows, more shocked than Landon. _Mal?_ What the fuck? 

The man himself doesn’t seem to be bothered, so Hope decides to just shrug it off. She spaces out as they continue to make small talk and exchange pleasantries, looking around the room and letting their voices fallinto the background. 

Her father is dancing with a blonde woman across the hall. When the pair step off to the right, Hope sees that the woman is Caroline Salvatore. The two of them appear to be talking in hushed voices, but Hope can swear her father is smiling. 

She wonders where her mother is. Hope narrows her eyes and moves on. 

She finds Hayley dancing with Uncle Elijah a few feet away. They sway close together, dancing to music of their own. Hope feels her heart clench. Instinctively, she looks around the room for—

Josie. 

The brunette is already staring back at her by the time their eyes meet. But not quite. Instead, Josie is staring at something right next to Hope. Someone.

Landon. 

Her gaze is glued to the hand Hope has on his shoulder. The pureblood honestly forgot it was even there. She feels a jolt of panic and quickly takes her hand back as if burned. Her cheeks heat up with a blush of...guilt? Shame? 

She doesn’t know quite why, but she feels like Josie caught her doing something bad, even though she knows she didn’t. Maybe it’s just because Josie is looking at her like—

Like she just kicked her puppy or something. 

The brunette’s lips are drawn into a pout, the brown of her eyes sad and dark. Her eyebrows are knitted together in thought, face flushed pink. After a few more, agonizing seconds of staring, she pulls away from her partner and flees the dance floor. 

Hope feels her heart drop to her stomach and she frowns, watching Josie leave the hall. Her first instinct is to go running after her. 

She does just that. 

It’s so easy. _Too_ easy. How many times has she done it before? The number must be a lot, because Hope’s feet are suddenly moving on their own. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” she murmurs, not really paying attention, barely looking at Malivore and Landon at all. 

She doesn’t wait for an answer, not that it matters. Neither of them seem to hear her, too engrossed with each other. 

Hope doesn’t mind one bit. Her eyes are trapped on the entrance. She lifts her dress and steps forward to follow after Josie, but something turns her right back around. 

A hand latches itself onto her arm with an iron-tight grip and won’t let go. Hope tracks the hand up to a face. She sputters in surprise. 

Hayley Mikaelson. 

“Don’t you _dare_ follow after her,” the woman hisses through clenched teeth. Her eyes spark with fury. Elijah stands behind her with his hands in the pockets of his dress robes. 

Hope glances back desperately at the entrance. She can’t see Josie anymore. Fuck. She can’t lose her. She can’t. 

“You don’t understand,” Hope says. There are tears in her eyes. She can’t remember when she started crying. She blinks the tears back and swears she can feel her heart drowning in her chest. “I love her.” 

Hayley shakes her head. 

“You’re sixteen,” she tells her, voice like a growl. “You don’t know what love is—“ 

“Hayley.” Elijah steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “Let her go.” 

He lowers his eyes to hers. “She made her choice.” 

“I...” Hope doesn’t know what to say to that. She has no idea what way her uncle means it. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” 

This time, her mother lets her.

Once Hope makes it passed the entrance of the great hall, she stops walking in order to catch up to Josie. She imagines that she must look a hot mess, running in her heels. 

It’s a few seconds later that she sees a short glimpse of Josie rounding the corner of the main corridor. Hope speeds up in order to catch up with her. 

“Where are you going?” she yells after the muggleborn. Josie doesn’t bother to turn back. Instead, she starts to walk a little faster and turns into a courtyard, the large one in middle of the castle grounds. 

She’s looking down into the water fountain when Hope finally reaches her. The pureblood glances skyward and sighs. It’s raining, and not the good kind. Every drop bites into her skin and soaks through her dress. 

She comes up behind the other girl, voice a low murmur. “Why are we outside?” she asks. 

Josie doesn’t turn to face her. Her shoulders are shaking. Hope can’t tell if she’s crying or shivering from the cold. 

“I needed some fresh air,” the brunette mumbles quietly. Hope barely hears her over the rain. She can swear that the sky was clear just a few minutes before.

“Why?” 

Merlin, she’s closer, now. Close enough to touch. 

Josie finally turns around. Her chest is heaving from the force of it. The talisman around her neck starts to shake dangerously.  


“Because I feel like I can’t breathe.” 

Hope’s breath catches. “Jo.” 

“No, don’t tell me I’m being dramatic,” the brunette says. She wipes at her eyes. Hope still can’t tell if she’s crying through the raindrops. “You know what? I’ve been such an idiot. All night, I’ve had to watch you dance around with Landon and introduce him to—“

She pauses. “Who even was that guy?” 

Hope bites her lip to stifle her laughter. This is all so ridiculous. 

“Josie.” She wants to tell her it was nothing important, that it doesn’t matter, but the words don’t come. She can’t stomach another lie. “Please just calm down—“ 

“Calm down?” The muggleborn shakes her head miserably. “No. _No_. I thought I could do this. I thought I could watch you be with someone else, watch you dance with someone else and be fine with it and...”

She trails off, glaring at Hope. “And now you’re laughing at me.” 

“Josie, babe.” Hope can’t help it. She started cracking up halfway through Josie’s speech. It just sounds so silly. “You know I don’t care about Kirby. I only introduced him to ‘that guy’ as a favor, not because I wanted to. And you know that what I _truly_ want is to be with you. What made you doubt me?” 

Josie lowers her eyes to the ground. She tucks a damp strand of hair behind her ear shyly, looking embarrassed. 

“I don’t even know,” she says, not meeting Hope’s eye. Her shoulders sag. Hope’s eyes follow the line of her clavicle until she reaches the talisman. She wonders if the necklace is the reason Josie’s been so emotional today. She hopes not. “I guess I was just jealous.” 

Hope wants to tell her that she’s been jealous all night, too, but she knows it’s pointless. It won’t make her feel better, and it won’t make Josie feel better. 

“Well,” Hope starts, holding her hand out for Josie to take. She suppresses a smirk. “If you wanted to dance with me so badly, all you had to do was ask.” 

Josie looks hesitant. 

“There’s no music,” she says, pouting slightly. After a beat, she adds, “And it’s raining.” 

She even gives the sky a pointed look. Hope rolls her eyes and steps backwards. 

“Come inside with me.” 

“I don’t want to go back to the ball,” Josie tells her, with another pouty look beneath her lashes. Hope smiles. 

“Then we won’t.” 

This time, Josie takes her hand without hesitation. 

Once they’re within the walls of the castle again, Josie meets her in the middle. They immediately fall into the steps of the dance as if they’ve done this a hundred times. And they have.

Hope realizes that this is everything she has been wanting to do all night. Make Josie smile. Dance with her. Just the two of them. It’s perfect. She never wants to leave. 

The pureblood rests one hand at the small of her back, her other hand held close to Josie’s body. The other girl seems to melt into her touch, and Hope to hers. Both of them are still soaked from the rain, but they find warmth in each other. Hope’s eyes never leave Josie’s for a moment. 

“You’re wearing the necklace I got you,” the pureblood observes quietly. Her cheeks are flushed. It was raining a few minutes ago. She has a good reason. Whatever. 

“Yeah.” Josie nods happily. “I love it.” 

Hope gulps. “Oh.” 

The other girl raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?” She pouts. “I told you I did.” 

“No. No,” Hope hurries to say, making something up to hide her guilt. “I thought that maybe you were just, uh, being nice.” 

The guilty feeling in her chest turns into a bubble of laughter as Josie suddenly changes tempo and takes the lead, spinning Hope around so quickly that they both crash into the wall of the corridor. 

Hope’s head slams against a portrait, but she can’t find it in herself to complain as Josie starts giggling. She loves the sound. Loves everything about the other girl. 

“Ouch.” 

Josie stops giggling at the familiar voice that belongs to neither of them. 

A slow clap starts to echo across the corridor, bouncing off the walls. Hope feels all the blood drain from her face. 

“Penelope.” She suddenly can’t remember how to breathe. The sight of her friend has stolen the little air in her lungs right out of her. “What are you doing here?” 

“You left in a hurry,” Penelope says with a shrug, as if in explanation. She stops clapping, instead crossing her arms over her chest. “Nicot was going to see if you were okay, but I insisted. I can see now why she tried so hard to stop me. She knows, doesn’t she? Does everyone know? Everyone but me?” 

“Pen.” The nickname falls from her lips like a forgotten habit. Hope hasn’t called the other girl that in years. She feels eleven all over again, like they’re children caught out where they shouldn’t be. “Please—“ 

“You know what’s funny?” Penelope cuts her off. 

Right away, Hope knows that whatever comes next won’t be something to laugh about. Josie has yet to move an inch next to her. 

“I almost stopped looking for you, too,” Penelope tells her, “but I heard your voices. Thought I should check it out, just to make sure.” 

She takes a second to think about it. Then, she growls out, “I can’t fucking believe it.” 

Hope doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t speak. She just lets Penelope’s bitter laughter fill the space between them, and hopes that it’s enough to get them through this. 

“No.” Penelope shakes her head, steaming. “That’s not true. _No_. I knew there was something going on with you. I kept asking Nicot, but she would never tell me. Always said I was reading too much into things. I just assumed you two were having some secret love affair or whatever, but...” 

Hope swallows miserably. 

“I guess I was sort of right, at least,” the witch continues, almost rambling at this point. It seems that she can’t get over the shock. “You _are_ having an affair, just not with Nicot. With...” 

She suddenly whirls around at Josie, her eyes burning in the candlelight of a nearby flame. 

“With _you_,” she spits out. 

Hope opens her mouth to deny it, but nothing along those lines comes out. At all. “Yes. We’re in—“ 

_ We’re in love.  _

The pureblood clamps a hand over her mouth. Josie looks mortified. 

Penelope snickers. “I bet you didn’t mean to say that, did you?” 

She nods to herself. “Yeah, I bet you were planning on lying right to my face,” she goes on, shrugging. Hope thinks that she looks crazy. “Hey, I mean, if we’re all being honest, you should know that it wasn’t just vodka. In the punch. I also spiked it with a truth serum.” 

Hope scowls. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

“You bitch—“ 

“Before you get your knickers in a twist,” Penelope interrupts, holding up a finger. “I altered the potion so that the only person you wouldn’t be able to lie to was me. Maybe then I could figure out what was wrong with you. Turns out, it’s much worse than I thought.” 

Hope sucks in a ragged breath. 

“Park.” She exhales shakily. “I can explain.” 

Penelope raises her eyebrows, looking amused. 

“I should hope so,” she says. “There has to be some reason you’ve lowered yourself to breathe the same air as a _mudblood_.” 

Josie flinches. Hope’s hands clench into fists at her side. She takes a step forward and stands protectively in front of her girlfriend. “Don’t call her that.” 

“Oh, man.” Penelope laughs so hard she bends over with the force of it. “You’re in deep. What would your father say, Hope?” 

Hope bites the inside of her cheek. A muscle in her jaw twitches. Penelope is such a fucking hypocrite. Is she trying to pretend that the Potions lesson with the Amortentia never happened? 

“What would _yours_?” Hope returns easily. She moves her body a little closer, wanting to stand in front of Josie if things go wrong. She knows that they will. “Don’t act like you’re not just as guilty as I am.” 

For a moment, Penelope’s eyes dart to Josie. The muggleborn blushes and looks at the floor. 

“At least I have the common sense to hide it,” Penelope bites out. Her hand drifts dangerously close to the slit in her dress robes. “Really, Mikaelson. I thought you had better judgement than this. I thought you—“ 

She clenches her eyes shut, clearly frustrated. When she opens them again, Hope can’t find a single part of the girl she knows so well. 

“I thought you were _better_ than this,” Penelope finishes, at last. Hope can’t swallow passed the lump in her throat. 

“And I thought you were my best friend,” she says. “It looks like we were both wrong.” 

Penelope scoffs. 

“_Please_.” Her eyes darken. Her fingers keeps sneaking to that pocket in her dress. “We stopped being friends the second you took her from me.” 

Josie lets out a gasp. 

“I was just too blind to notice that it was you that had her attention,” Penelope mutters. Her eyes flicker up, cold as ice. “It was you all this time, wasn’t it?” 

“Pen—“ Hope tries, but the explanation doesn’t come. 

In a flash, Penelope’s hand moves to the pocket in her dress. She takes out her wand and points it right at Hope. 

“No.” Her eyes go to Josie, but she keeps her wand pointed at Hope. “I want to hear it from her. The truth.” 

Hope knows that she should probably take her own wand out, but she doesn’t want to escalate the situation any more than it already has. She doesn’t want this to turn into a full-out duel. She glances back and notices that Josie hasn’t taken her own wand out either. 

“You don’t _get_ to speak to her,” Hope says, voice as still as stone. She takes another step in front of Josie. “She owes you nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Penelope laughs sharply. “She owes me _everything_.” 

She looks at Josie again. 

“I wasted months of my life on you,” she tells her. Josie parts her lips with another silent gasp. “All that time spent thinking about you, every waking second. I couldn’t even escape you in my dreams. I fucking loved you. For—for _nothing_?” 

She turns angrily back to Hope, throwing her words back at her. Her grip on her wand starts to tremble. Josie steps closer. 

“We can’t help who we fall in love with,” the muggleborn says softly. 

“No.” Penelope shakes her head miserably. The hold she has on her wand goes still. Like she’s made a decision. “But we can stop ourselves from acting on it.” 

Hope barely has time to think before a jet of blue light hits her in the chest. She falls to the floor motionless, unable to move a single part of her body. Someone screams. Hope thinks it might be Josie. It definitely wasn’t Penelope, that’s for sure. 

“What did you do?” Josie asks. Hope realizes that she can’t move her eyes either, but she wants to see Josie, damn it. She wants to see the look on her face. “_What did you do?!_” 

_Well_, Hope thinks, forced to stare up at the ceiling. She can’t even shut her eyes. _This is fucking humiliating. _

She knows she should have just taken her wand out. This is what she gets for trying to play peacemaker. Fucking Penelope. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of Josie lowering herself to the floor in her dress, hovering over her head. There are tear tracks running down her eyes. 

“Fine! You want the truth? I don’t love you, Penelope,” Josie sobs out, clutching at Hope and running her shaky hands over her limp body. “I never will.” 

Penelope doesn’t respond to that. Hope can’t see her. She has no idea where she is. She doesn’t hear any footsteps either, so she thinks that maybe the girl hasn’t left yet.

“Finite.” Josie starts to wave her wand over Hope, trying to come up with a counterspell to reverse whatever Penelope did. “Finite Incantatem.” 

She tries a few different spells, but nothing seems to work. Hope hears the hitch in her breath as she inhales. Her bottom lip wobbles unsteadily with her exhale. 

“What spell did you use?” the muggleborn asks Penelope, voice pleading. Desperate. She raises her wand and points it somewhere Hope can’t see. Her tone turns deadly. “Tell me what you did.” 

Hope knows that it isn’t a simple body-binding or freezing spell, since she can’t move her eyes. It must be something more complex. 

“Don’t worry,” Penelope says. Her voice is more hoarse than Hope remembers. She knows, then, that Penelope won’t try to hurt Josie. She stops struggling to move. “She’ll be fine in an hour.” 

Josie lowers her wand. Hope realizes that she was probably pointing it at Penelope. The thought makes her heart race. 

“It’s okay, Hopey.” Josie turns back to her, fingertips brushing her face. Hope feels none of it. She can only hear the echoing footsteps of Penelope leaving. “You’ll be okay. It’s okay.” 

“Okay?” Hope tries to nod, but she doesn’t move an inch. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe. _Okay_?” 

Hope doesn’t feel it, but she starts to get a little closer to the ceiling, so she figures that Josie must be levitating her. She silently hopes that the brunette moves quickly. It might lookbad if anyone stumbles upon them and Hope can’t defend Josie. 

It’s a few minutes of staring up at the ceiling before Hope begins to hear voices. 

“Hey, Jo. What’s up?” It sounds familiar. Too familiar. “Wanna smoke?” 

“No, thank you,” Josie says kindly. Hope doesn’t stop levitating. 

“Are you—woah.” The voice seems to finally notice Hope. “Either that’s Hope Mikaelson or I’m just high...” 

“I killed her,” Josie says with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I can bury her body by myself.” 

Hope realizes who the other voice is. No wonder it was grating on her nerves. 

Jade. 

Hope struggles to roll her eyes. She settles on glaring up at the ceiling and pretending that it’s Jade. That bitch. She’ll kill her. 

“Oh,” Jade breathes out slowly. “Alright? I’ll see you around, then?” 

“Sure.” 

While Penelope might be a conniving snake, she isn’t a liar. An hour later, Hope starts to regain feeling in her limbs, inch by inch. By the time she can move her eyes off the ceiling, she realizes that she’s in Josie’s room. 

In her bed. 

Laying down right on top of it. 

Her eyes drop below her chest and she sees that she’s still wearing her dress, the fabric of it damp from the rain. It clings to her skin uncomfortably. Hope shivers.

Her hair is still wet, and she feels beyond cold. What’s worse, even, is that her skin has taken on this weird, pale-blue color that makes her look kind of dead. She rubs her hands together for warmth and realizes that Josie isn’t anywhere in the room. 

She panics and sits up, eyes darting wildly around. Where is she? 

Did Penelope—

“Hey.” 

The bathroom door swings open, and the girl she was looking for appears behind it. Josie smiles at her, no longer in her own dress. Instead, she’s wearing a simple, white shirt with a grey pair of shorts. The necklace Hope got her hangs below her neck, just like it has all night. 

Hope smiles without realizing it. “Hey.” 

“Are you still cold?” Josie asks, wringing her hands together almost shyly. She looks flustered, Hope thinks. Her make-up from the ball is gone, but her hair is still down, falling a few inches passed her shoulders. 

“I tried to cast a warming spell on you, but I-I don’t know, I think my hands were shaking too much for it to work,” she babbles on. “Let me get you something to change into.” 

Before Hope can tell her not to, the muggleborn moves to her dresser and picks something out. A pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. Hope smirks. A hoodie. She likes those. 

“Here.” Josie hands over the clothes and retreats back into the bathroom to let Hope change. But not before leaning down and kissing Hope softly on the cheek. 

The pureblood blushes the entire time she changes into her pajamas. The hoodie is big on her, just as she likes it, and the pants fall down passed her feet. She’s rolling them up when Josie asks if she can come back in. 

“Sorry,” the other girl apologizes. “I don’t mean to be impatient, I just need to know that you’re okay.” 

Hope laughs through a thickness in her throat and a wetness behind her eyes, oddly touched. “I’m okay,” she promises. 

“Are you sure?” Josie checks, taking her hand and leading her back to the bed. She forces Hope to sit down, gently stroking the back of her hand with her palm. 

“Really, I’m fine,” Hope says. Besides her pride taking a hit, the pureblood feels good. Better now that her and Josie are alone. “Park just surprised me, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll get her back—“ 

“_Get her back_?” Josie scoffs. “This isn’t a game, Hope. She could have seriously hurt you. And it’s all my fault.” 

Hope swallows. “Josie...”

“I was so scared that I would lose you again,” the other girl tells her, her eyes wet with fresh tears. “I knew that you would be okay, but I was _so_ scared, Hope. Please don’t leave me.” 

Hope feels sick to her stomach. How could Josie even think that? 

“Jo, I’ll never want to leave you.” She squeezes their clasped hands together and pulls Josie to her own body. “If there comes a day where you want me gone, just tell me and I’ll go, I promise, but I’ll always try to be here for you as long as you let me.” 

Josie smiles. 

“Always?” she asks, breathless. 

Hope smiles, too. 

“Always and forever.” 

Josie’s smile turns into something of a sneaky grin. Before Hope knows it, Josie is pushing her down onto the bed and the back of her head hits the pillow. Hope grins back and sits up on her elbows as Josie straddles her hips. 

“You always sit on me,” Hope mutters, but it’s not a real complaint. She loves the warmth of their bodies so close together. Nothing will ever get her blood pumping more than the gentle weight of Josie in her lap. 

“What can I say?” Josie bats her eyelashes with a smirk and adjusts Hope’s legs between her own. “You’re comfy.” 

The pureblood smiles. The look on her face turns hopeful. 

“Can I be on—“ 

“No,” is all Hope gets before Josie crashes her lips to hers. She tries not to whimper as the muggleborn lays her body flat on top of her, pressing their chests together. 

Josie obviously doesn’t have the same restraint. The brunette sighs against her mouth, a puff of air between her lips, warm and sweet and happy. She tastes like fruit punch and vodka. 

Oh. 

Vodka. 

Hope pulls back, just enough that Josie whines and tries to connect their lips again. Hope lets her brush them together for a few seconds before she softly pushes her girlfriend away. 

“How much have you had to drink?” she asks, her breath coming in small, winded pants. They can’t have been kissing for more than a minute, but she’s already breathless. 

Josie looks the same. The other girl has to blink a couple of times for the question to even register. 

“Hope.” Josie pouts when the words finally set in, jutting out her bottom lip like a child. “I’m not drunk.” 

Hope gives her a pointed look with a single, raised eyebrow. 

“Fine,” Josie mumbles. She sits up on the pureblood’s lap and fixes her hair. “Just the cup you saw me take at the punch table.” 

Hope raises her other eyebrow. 

“Just the one?” 

“I promise,” Josie tells her, smiling with heavy-lidded eyes. 

She leans down and presses their lips together again, but only for a second or two. Hope tries to chase after her mouth, but Josie laughs and won’t let her. Instead, the brunette dips her head even lower and plants a kiss right on the sharp cut of Hope’s jaw. Then, another one right below. 

“Okay,” Hope says slowly. Trying not to show how affected she is by the other girl’s hot kisses. “Cool.” 

Without warning, Josie cups her chin in one hand and tilts her head back forcefully. Hope chokes on a groan as her tongue swipes a long line up the side of her neck. 

Fuck. 

It feels so good, Hope doesn’t know what to do with herself. Minutes ago, the pureblood was cold. Now she’s flushed, warm, and fighting to keep her breath. She can only clench her eyes shut and silently beg for mercy, splaying her fingers through the small hairs at the back of Josie’s head.

The other girl lowers her mouth to her collarbone, nipping at the sensitive skin there she knows all too well. Hope pretends that she doesn’t arch into the bite, even as her hips jump up. They’re instantly forced back down by the weight on top of them.

It’s a few minutes later, when Josie releases the skin of her neck with a pop and pulls away to admire her work, that she asks, “That makes four. Do you want another one?” 

Hope nods embarrassingly fast before she realizes that she has no idea what Josie’s talking about. “Four what?” 

The other girl stares at her blankly. “Four hickies,” she hums out with a sweet smile. 

“Four _what_?” Hope repeats, trying to sit up, rubbing at her neck. Josie giggles in her lap. 

“You know, love bites,” she sing-songs, obviously more than a little distracted. All Hope can do is stare at her breathlessly. “I love—“ 

Hope leans up and seals their mouths back together. Josie had her fun. Now it’s her turn. 

She sneaks her fingers underneath the brunette’s white top, the tips of them brushing up and down the soft skin waiting for her. “You feel so good,” Hope blurts out, breaking their kiss to whisper the words against her lips. 

Josie lets out a little moan at the contact and parts her mouth open. Hope deepens the kiss, slipping her fingers up even higher. They must still be cold from earlier. 

“Oh.” Josie shivers, but she doesn’t lean away. Instead, she cants up into the touch and rolls her hips down. 

“Oh,“ Hope echoes, just barely catching herself from moaning, but Josie doesn’t seem to care. She cries out, something between a whimper and a whine, clutching at Hope’s hair. 

Somehow, they’ve stopped kissing. Hope doesn’t really mind. Her lips have attached themselves to the long column of Josie’s throat and don’t want to leave. Her fingers all have minds of their own, too. They inch near the waistband of Josie’s cute pajama shorts, swiping dangerously low. 

“_Hope_.” Josie goes still in her arms. 

The pureblood moves her fingers away from her shorts. She flutters her eyes open slowly, still distracted. “Yeah, love?” 

“Nevermind,” Josie dismisses, her cheeks warm with a blush. “It’s nothing.” 

It doesn’t sound like nothing. Hope lifts her head away from the other girl’s neck and furrows her eyebrows. 

“Hey,” she murmurs softly, just trying to get her attention. “Are you okay?” 

Josie blushes even harder. 

“Sorry.” She leans away, bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t done something like this in a while.” 

Oh. 

Hope didn’t assume that’s where they were headed. If she thinks about it, she hasn’t done something like this in a while, either. 

“It’s okay.” She frowns and gently massages Josie’s side with the hand she has on her hip. “Do you want to stop? We don’t have to—“

“I _want_ to,” Josie cuts her off. Hope can’t tear herself away, can’t believe her ears. The words she had wanted to hear so, so many nights ago in detention are now here, right in front of her. “I want you to touch me.” 

Josie moves forward and takes Hope’s hand in her own, pulling it back down to the waistband of her shorts. Hope sucks in a breath. Her eyes darken. 

“I don’t want you to stop. Ever.” 

—

The next morning, Hope sits with her friends in their shared compartment, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to start moving and take them away from school and back home. 

“You have a hickey under your chin.” Rose pats her on the head as she takes the seat next to her, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

“Actually...” She tilts her head to the side, grinning. “Make that four.” 

That gets the attention of everyone in the compartment. 

Maya immediately sits up. Her eyes narrow with interest.

“Ooh, Mikaelson got some?” She raises her eyebrows, looking impressed. Hope blushes so hard she could fit into Gryffindor. “What’s their name?” 

Hope’s breath catches. She struggles to force air into her lungs, shrugging casually. “I can’t remember.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she silently watches Penelope. The girl is sitting by the window, ignoring everyone around her. Not that Hope is complaining about it. She’s still annoyed with the other girl for paralyzing her like that and taking off, but it’s not like she can blame her. She’s just glad that Penelope hasn’t told anyone what happened yet. 

They haven’t brought it up once, either. Haven’t really made eye contact all morning. Maybe it’s for the best.

It’s funny, Hope thinks. She thought she would be angry with the girl for what she did to her, thought she would want revenge. But she looks at Penelope now, and all she feels is sad. 

Half an hour into the train ride, Hope pats Rose’s knee next to her own and stands up. 

“I’m feeling kind of restless,” she announces, faking a yawn and pretending to stretch her arms out over her head. She glances at the glass of the compartment door. “I think I’ll go on a walk ‘round the train to clear my head.” 

Well. She _really_ wants to see if she can get one more glimpse of Josie before they leave, but she won’t say that out loud. It’s probably not going to happen. She and Josie had said goodbye to each other the night before, so she won’t get her hopes up.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” 

Rose places the book she was reading face-down on her lap. Hope glances down to the girl’s hand, which is being held by the boy next to her. 

Ethan. 

Huh. Hope pauses. That’s new. 

She didn’t notice it before. 

“No.” The pureblood slowly drags her eyes away from their joined hands. She tries to suppress the smirk playing at her lips. “I think I’d like to be alone for a little while.” 

“Here we go again,” Maya grumbles. Hope almost doesn’t catch it. 

Her smirk turns into a scowl. “What do you mean?” 

Maya ignores her and continues to stare down at her lap with furrowed eyebrows. Just when Hope is about to turn around and walk out of the compartment, the girl speaks up. 

“Well, you were gone the entire night, Merlin knows where, and now you’re trying to leave again,” she says. “By a few minutes, I guess you mean we won’t see you for a couple of hours, right?” 

“No—“ Hope cuts herself off when she realizes that Maya is right. Her frown deepens, stuck on something the girl said. _You were gone the entire night._ “I...I didn’t think you’d notice.” 

Maya’s eyes burn into hers. “I _always_ notice,” she snaps. 

What does that even mean? Hope scoffs and decides that she won’t bother dignifying it with a reply. She slides open the compartment door and tries to shut it behind her, but a hand on her arm won’t let her. 

“She’s right, you know.” Hope sighs and resists the urge to shrug the other girl off. 

“Rose,” she warns. 

Rose doesn’t seem to care. She lets the compartment door slide closed behind them, tugging Hope outside to the middle aisle of the train with that same hand on her arm. 

“You’ve been really distracted lately,” Rose tells her. “I don’t mind because I know why, but the others are starting to notice that something is wrong.” 

They look at each other for a long time as the words set in. 

At last, Hope bites her lip and nods. “Okay,” she murmurs, on the exhale of a breath. 

“Okay,” Rose repeats. She pulls away, staring at Hope until she finally disappears back into the compartment. Hope turns on her heel and starts walking down the aisle. 

Most students are already in their own compartments, but the few that aren’t linger in the hallways. Hope bumps into most of them, since the aisle is pretty narrow. A few minutes in, she even passes the trolley witch. Hope smiles at her and eyes the candy in her cart, but she doesn’t buy any. 

The pureblood is halfway down the train when she hears her voice. 

“I don’t know where she is, MG,” Josie says, tone a little frustrated and impatient. Hope lifts her head up and catches sight of the other girl a few feet away, poking her head out of a random compartment. Her friend MG stands in the middle of the aisle, keeping the door open. 

“You don’t?” MG glances down at the floor of the train in disappointment. He tries to put a smile on, but he’s obviously upset. “That’s alright, I guess. Would you like me to keep you company?” 

Josie smiles at him. 

“Oh no,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I know you’re dying to go looking for her.” 

“Jo...” MG looks unsure. 

“Really,” she reassures him, holding up something in her hand for him to see. Hope can’t tell what it is. “I wanted to get started on this, anyways.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Hope steps forward and cranes her head at an odd angle to see what Josie’s holding. She’s standing on the tips of her toes when MG suddenly glances in her direction. 

Hope panics. With a flick of her wand, she casts a disillusionment charm to make herself invisible. 

MG blinks once, twice, then turns back to Josie. Hope sighs in relief, stepping closer. It looks Josie is carrying a book. 

“Yeah, it’s okay, I promise,” Josie says with a gentle smile. Hope narrows her eyes and keeps moving even closer until she’s standing right next to them. Since she’s invisible, they can’t see her. 

“Alright, Jo.” MG steps back into the aisle of the train, while Josie steps back into the compartment. “I’ll let you know if I find her. See you later!” 

“See you.”

Hope slides into the compartment before the door closes, finding that Josie is already sitting down. She waits a few, long seconds before opening her mouth to speak, but she stops herself at the peaceful look on Josie’s face.  


Maybe Josie really wanted to be left alone. Maybe Hope should just leave? 

Hope watches the brunette open her book and sits down next to her with a smirk. Just as she’s about to make herself known, Josie closes her book and looks out the window. 

It’s raining and foggy outside. The glass of the window is frosted over from the cold, so Hope doesn’t know exactly why Josie is looking out it, since she won’t be able to see anything. 

Hope leans back and watches her girlfriend draw lines into the fogged glass. Each time, Josie wipes the drawing away before starting again. It’s always the same drawing: 

** H + J  **

Sometimes it’ll be:

** J + H **

As if Josie can’t decide which way she likes better. 

The pureblood blushes, feeling like a creep. She meant to reveal herself a while ago, but she got too caught up and distracted with watching her girlfriend. Still red in the face, she leans closer and undos her disillusionment spell.

“Hey, babe.” 

Josie screams loud enough for the entire train to hear. Hope clamps her hand over her mouth to shut her up. She muffles the other girl’s screams until Josie finally stops squirming. Hope doesn’t miss the way Josie tries to discreetly use her arm to wipe away their initials on the fogged glass. 

“Hope?” Her eyes go wide. “What are you doing here?” 

The pureblood smirks, lowers her voice, and leans into Josie’s side, only half-joking. “I just couldn’t get enough of you,” she husks out, dropping kisses along the column of Josie’s throat. She buries herself into the crook of her neck and inhales. 

Josie whines quietly and pushes her away, the skin of her neck still tender and sore from last night. Hope chuckles and pulls back. 

“No, really,” the muggleborn says. “I thought we said our goodbyes yesterday...” 

It sounds more like a question than anything else. 

“We did.” Hope nods, nervous about it for some reason. “I just wanted to see you. I saw you talking with your friend and I thought we could hang out or something. We have a couple of hours until anyone comes looking for me.” 

Josie’s blush darkens, but she looks touched. 

“Me, too.” 

“Cool.” Hope puts her hands in the pockets of her robes, suddenly feeling shy. She scoots a little closer to Josie and hopes that she doesn’t look too eager. “What do you want to do?” 

Hope herself was thinking that they could just hold hands and sit in silence while Josie reads her book, but she wants to hear what the muggleborn prefers. 

Josie hums as she thinks about it. “Hmm.”

Her eyes visibly darken. 

“Go lock the door and shut the blinds,” she says, with this coy, innocent look underneath her eyelashes. It’s very pretty. The pureblood swallows and finds that her mouth has run dry. 

“Oh?” Hope raises her eyebrows. 

Josie gives her another pointed look. “_Go_.”

Hope trips over herself to shut the blinds. She forgets to lock the door. 

—

“Anything off the cart, dears?” 

Mary the Trolley Witch peeks her head into the compartment, her eyes landing on two young boys wearing Hufflepuff robes. They perk up and grin at the sight of her. Both of them scramble to reach for the coins in their pockets. 

“A pumpkin pasty for me and a chocolate frog for him, please,” one of the boys tells her. 

Mary smiles and bends down to reach for the sweets in her cart. “That’ll be eight sickles,” she tells them. 

The boys hand the coins over, and Mary moves onto the next compartment. She frowns when she sees that the blinds are shut. She rolls the Honeydukes Express cart to a stop in the middle of the aisle and knocks. 

No answer. 

Hmm. Maybe the students inside are asleep? It’s a common thing to happen on the train. She decides that she’ll just wake the students inside up and ask if they want any candy. 

Everyone wants candy. 

Mary knocks again before reaching for the door handle to the compartment. She doesn’t notice the green Slytherin tie hanging from the knob, so she gets no warning for what happens next. 

The trolley witch slowly slides open the door, so slowly, and—

Instantly regrets it. 

Mary drops open her mouth with a silent squeak at the sight that greets her.

Two girls sit together, the one with brown hair straddling the other, her gasping, pink lips filling the compartment with small pants and moans. The one with auburn hair is sucking on the brunette’s throat, her fingers disappearing underneath the other girl’s skirt over and over again. 

It takes them a few long, awkward seconds to notice Mary. 

“Fuck. _Fuck_.” One girl groans and pulls back, trying to get her friend’s attention. “Jo.” 

“Why’d you stop?” Jo whines and keeps moving her hips. “I’m—!” 

Mary shuts the door. 

“Oopsies.” 

The trolley witch decides to just forget what she saw. She giggles to herself and starts to roll her cart down the aisle of the train again. 

Nope. None of her business. It wasn’t the first time she had walked in on something like that, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

Inside the compartment, Josie scrambles off of Hope’s lap and falls to the floor. 

“Scourgify,” Hope mumbles, pointing her wand at her hand to clean up the evidence of what they had been doing. 

“What do you mean someone saw us?” Josie shrieks from the floor, pulling her skirt up higher on her hips and tugging her robe back on. Hope zips up her own skirt and takes a second to admire the light sheen of sweat on Josie’s face and the pretty, dark blush on her cheeks. 

“Calm down,” Hope says, shrugging the other girl off with a careless lift of her shoulders. She glances at the door before bending over to help Josie stand back up. “I think it was just the trolley witch.” 

“Just the trolley witch?” With the help of Hope, Josie pulls herself to her feet. She huffs dramatically and places her hands on her hips. “Oh, _my_ bad! Why was I _ever_ worried in the first place?”

Hope rolls her eyes at her sarcastic tone. Her stomach grumbles but she ignores it. She realizes that she skipped breakfast, and she always get a little hungry after...

“You started it,” the pureblood mutters underneath her breath, stepping forward to help her girlfriend button her shirt back up. 

Unfortunately, Josie hears her. She bats her hands away and glares down at her. 

“_I_ started it?” 

Hope gulps. She knows that she shouldn’t have said that, yet she can’t seem to stop talking. 

“Yeah,” she says, glancing nervously down at the floor. “I mean, you’re the one that went all _go lock the door_—“ 

“Which you obviously didn’t,” Josie cuts in. Hope ignores her. 

“—_and shut the blinds_—“ 

“That is _not_ what I sound like!” the muggleborn gasps out, obviously offended. Hope thinks that she’s doing an amazing impression of Josie’s voice, but okay. 

“And then you seduced me with your...” Hope stumbles over the right word, open and closing her mouth pathetically. “Your, your sex eyes!” 

“My _sex_ eyes?” Josie seems to find that more offensive than the impression. “I do not have—“ 

Hope’s stomach grumbles again. The pureblood places a hand over her belly and resolves to fill it up with candy. Damn. That means she needs to run and catch up with the trolley witch. 

“Whatever,” she interrupts Josie, sliding the door to the compartment open. She peeks her head out both ways before turning back to the brunette. “I’ll be right back.” 

Josie doesn’t seem to like that. “What? Where are you going?” 

Hope pouts. Just a little. “I want a chocolate frog.” 

Josie doesn’t seem to like that, either. 

“Are you being serious right now?” The pureblood is already out the door. Josie calls her back, her frustration obvious in her voice. “Hope!” 

Hope sighs and steps back into the compartment. She stares at Josie blankly. 

“Yes?” 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” the muggleborn asks, raising her eyebrows pointedly. 

She brings a hand up and rubs at her damp neck, where Hope had worked a few hickies into the skin of her throat a few minutes ago. The old ones from last night are there, too. The pureblood has to drag her eyes away in order to clear her head. 

It takes a second, but Hope curses herself when she finally gets it. Of course! How silly of her! 

“Oh.” She quirks up a sheepish smile. “Did you want a chocolate frog, too?” 

“No!” Josie scowls. She doesn’t look very amused. 

Hope winces. “Sorry,” she mutters, flushing pink. She puts her hands in her pockets and leans forward on the balls of her feet. Just when she’s about to ask what she’s forgetting, Josie speaks up again. 

“Actually...” she starts, looking embarrassed. Her face is still red and she can’t quite look Hope in the eye. “Can you see if she has any sugar quills?” 

Hope raises her eyebrows and smirks, pleasantly surprised. “Sure thing, babe.” 

She comes back a few minutes later, her hands full with sweets. Josie eyes the stack of sugar quills she’s carrying with amusement. 

“What’d you do, buy out the whole cart?” she asks, sinking back into her seat as Hope drops a few quills into her lap. 

The pureblood sits down next to her and tries to hide her blush. She’s sure it’ll give her away. It does. 

Josie’s joking smile drops. “You didn’t.” 

“Yeah, I did,” Hope says, trying to be casual about it so she doesn’t upset the brunette. She knows that Josie doesn’t like how often she throws away money. “You didn’t tell me what flavor you wanted, so I just thought...”

“Hope, we’ve been through this,” Josie interrupts her softly, a hand on her arm. “I can’t eat all of it by myself, remember?” 

Hope shrugs. “We can share,” she says, leaning down to peck Josie on the lips. She tries to reach out to intertwine their hands together, but the muggleborn pulls away. 

Hope frowns. “What’s wrong?” she asks, a little annoyed. She just wants to hold hands with her girlfriend and eat her candy. 

Josie glances down meaningfully. “Did you clean your hand?” 

Oh. 

“No,” Hope deadpans sarcastically. “I didn’t think of that.” 

“Hope—“

“Joking.” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Josie ends up being the one to interlock their fingers. They hold hands for the rest of the ride. When the train finally stops, Josie makes Hope promise not to forget her over the break. The pureblood smiles and tells Josie that she could never. 

“Make sure to keep wearing the necklace I gave you and watch out for my letter, okay?” Hope tells her as they part, with Josie one foot out the door. “It’ll come a few days before Christmas, and then I’ll activate the Portkey when I know you’ve received it. We’ll meet then.” 

Josie nods slowly. Pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Hesitates. “Alright...”

Hope watches the other girl’s hand close around the door knob to open it, before she twists it back into the lock and throws herself almost desperately at Hope. 

Their lips meet somewhere in the middle, and it’s _honey_, Hope realizes. Josie tastes like honey. _Honey_. That was the brunette’s favorite sugar quills flavor all along. 

Hope smiles against her lips and sighs into her mouth, even as she pulls back. She knows that they’re going to get carried away, they always do. 

She tears her mouth from Josie’s, watching as the brunette’s chest heaves in an attempt to fill her lungs with air. _Good_, Hope thinks. She likes that they are both breathless. The desire to draw Josie in again, to get another taste of honey, is just about all-consuming. But she needs to _breathe_ first. 

“Just one more minute,” Josie pleads, panting. 

“No.” Hope shakes her head. “We can’t. We’ll get carried away.” 

Josie tries to connect their lips together again, but Hope dodges her. “Then we get carried away.” 

“No,” Hope says, not sounding sure about it. She closes her eyes and wraps her arms around Josie, turning their kiss into a hug. She lowers her voice, a whisper in her ear, “We just have to wait one week. One week.” 

“One week,” Josie repeats, squeezing her back tight enough to hurt. Hope closes her eyes. If this is her last moment with her, then she’ll take it. Honor it. Find a way to keep it locked in her heart forever. 

After a minute or so, they let go of one another with breaths that rattle their lungs cold. Hope blames it on the window. The weather. Anything. She watches the muggleborn press herself back against the compartment door, as if in defeat. 

“One week,” Hope promises. 

They stare at each other. _Honey_, Hope thinks. It would be so easy to throw herself forward and get another taste. So easy. Too easy. 

With one last look, Josie slides open the door, and then she’s gone. Hope waits a second, then ten, then thirty, before she follows after. She watches the other girl disappear down the train for a few, agonizing seconds, willing her to look back. Like promised, Josie doesn’t. Hope turns around and heads back in the opposite direction. 

So far away and yet, so, so close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there won’t be anymore relationship angst after this, just family, friend, and prophecy drama :)


End file.
